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.