Her calm countenance resonates with droning eloquence,
Yet under the velvety-brown irises, a shrouded pulsating;
The rosy cheekbones silently screech vermilion,
And her peach-plump lips trickle a delicate song,
But wrestle against oozing an anthem of madness;
To all, she exposes her strength.
Spirited bulges indulge his limbs, spurting strength,
And his lurid visage smothers every invitation from eloquence;
The gleaming, boisterous teeth sparkle with madness,
As his tonsils threaten to burst through his neck, pulsating;
The fleshy twins that encircle his mouth vomit a traitorous song,
While his devilish tongue spews vermilion.
Their alliance, an ambiguous hurricane, leaves her miserably vermilion,
While he, the parasitic bird, ascends with her strength
After warming her nest, bawdily chirping a disingenuous song;
Her wounded breast, shielded by authentic, downy eloquence,
Rhythmically weeps invisibly, silent sorrow pulsating;
The tears he kidnapped rescue her from madness.
Only after her liberation, she becomes intimate with madness,
In mournful repose, spooning with a bottle of vermilion,
Consenting to the spirited stream, sliding through her mouth, pulsating
Throughout her core, the orgasmic rush exhausting her strength;
She selflessly reciprocates to her fluid lover, and, with eloquence,
Ejaculates the curdled nectar, and tenders a garbled song.
After an eternity of daily dying, her sweet voice gradually forms a song,
And a flock of sister birds replies, disbanding her madness,
Twig by twig, and with camaraderie and diverse eloquence;
The surrogate paramour jealously flows downstream, its streaks of vermilion
Permanently staining her silky breast with a slightly frayed strength;
And the velvety-brown irises proffer tears of tribute, precise and pulsating.
This season she nests with the sisterhood, and her heart, pulsating
With grateful affection, tweets a contented song;
Her second virginity renews her chick-like strength,
And towards the ungrateful cock, she hurls her former madness;
The female flock steadfastly tends to her healing blisters of faded vermilion,
Which pale to the whiteness of a dove, a symbol of well-earned eloquence.
The cocky wretch, pulsating in solidarity, surges towards madness
While karma hums a cruel song, showing no mercy as his soul bleeds vermilion;
Yet, she, in humility and gentle strength, weeps for him in eloquence.