A fresh silk flower, her scent floundering
-- the fiery sweet fumes of frothing youth --
the saintly whore saunters, on two feet soaring,
our seeing eyes searing, deep lust summoning.
Her white skin, wan -- in my dreams, warm --,
in waves of gold walloing -- our eyes wavering --
does her hale hair a halo make,
or horns for souls hanging, beckoning of Hell...
Barging comes the bedlam, the basting heat
of blue eyes like battalions -- the gaze of bayonets.
Barely barred souls are laid bare,
the surrendered beach beholds the conquering baroness.
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