Chaste

Gherardo di Giovani del Flora. The Combat of Love and Chastity. 1475-1500. Florence, Italy. 

Nestled in a flower-bed of humiliation is where Compassion kisses at the genesis of my waist; engrossed with billowing eyes that pine for the zenith deliverance, they let covet roll off the tongue like boulders that plunge from soaring heights. 

Pavlov must've conditioned you, the way salivation foams and procures with supple pecks from the pulp of succulent buds of roses. 

I can imagine the silvery echoes of the Moon's delight and how she howls at God's will to create desire so compulsively.

It's selfishly filthy how crazed the radiance of violet, from Dusk's lacklustre tears, becomes a hazy memory fixated on ardor; my, you look absolutely breathtaking in this still-frame.