My Mistresses eyes are nothing like the sun;

Because eyes don’t fucking burn;

If snow be white,  why then her breasts are most certainly not made of snow.

If hairs be wires, dark cables emanate from her skull.

I have seen roses (certainly not those of Tudor) damasked, red and white, (Not Liz.)

But my mistress is a person, not a flower, so really what comparison could I make?

I like perfumes. In fact, I like perfumes more than her breath-

I prefer her mouth to do other things near my face, and be breathless.

I kinda like her voice- but tbh I prefer the soothing countenance of Nickelback

And she’s no goddess,

She doesn’t float, but she walks side-by-side with me.

And in doing so, I think she becomes as rare as my love

For any false or doomed goddess, even if this feeling is more… Rough.


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