Unconsummated
Her hickeys are her medallions,
Offerings to an ancient pagan deity, her scar;
She'd call them warbadges,
Had it been, for her, a war.
She's a practioner of an ancient, esoteric art;
A tantalising chore, relished by all,
yet professed by few;
acknowledged by yet fewer.
Her profession reminds one of war:
Incited, cheered on and lauded by many,
but partook in by a numbered, bold few.
Her hide was brazen as the Spartan Shield, not bare;
By her own assent.
A number of patrons could still penetrate it,
yet never make it to her galvan heart.
For her innards were not her prerogative, but here interiors were.
One could violate her periphery, but her territory lay elsewhere.
It'd take another echelon of audacity and chivalry to make it inside her self;
A veritable knight-out-of-his-shining-armour to invade her inner, choiciest chambers.
The glutton caterpillar would need an ample enough stimulus to pop it out of its cozy cocoon.
Will someone stimulate her beyond her senses?
Evoke awe rather than mere sensation?
Will someone rouse than arouse? Will she become esoteric than erotic?
She views herself as a mirror; a whimsical one albeit;
Pity and condescension are both pathetic fallacies of her onlookers themselves.
"Animaline? Beastly? Basal? Rudimentary? But what evolution have Warriors, Butchers and Hunters underwent?
Competition, Hunger, Sleep and Pleasure -
the civilisation's ultimate yet abashedly, furtive ends.
More passion than the worker's profession it evokes, yet his weariness it tends.
A long day's toil is forgotten in my company, I set more crooks right than the gaoler's tools would ever mend."
"I've peeped in humans, and seen through them;
I've peeled humans in layers:
Trust me, there are more than the Butcher and the Doctor would attest to.
I've known men better than their wives,
I've comforted men as their mothers.
I've seen more paradoxes than a theologist would tinker,
I've transcended further than any ascetic ever would.
I've been closer to divinity than a clergy could,
I've received more offerings than an idol ever should.
I've united and led at the forefront, more and more kind of people than any Messiah had;
I've borne privy to more begging, imploration and worship, than any false prophet has."
"My love and benevolence is greater than God;
For why else would nonagenarian cardinals, seek my solace?
More theologists and thinkers have discovered God in my embrace, than on thy altars, kneeling amid frankincense."
"Emperors, king and nobility alike,
Those who possess a thousand concubines, and insolence;
For whom their manorial boulevards don't suffice ample respite,
have relinquished their palatial homesteads
and sought refuge in my opulence."
"I've ascended and soared higher, than any conferred messiahhoods;
More weary travellers have leaned on me, and sought shelter, than in the lovely woods.
I've witnessed royalty beg like paupers,
I've made tramps feel royal.
I've seen nobility plunge to the lowest of nadirs,
I've seen benthic urchins feel supreme."
"I'm a creator of destinies,
I'm a master of all professions.
My art is universal in appeal, and most sought after,
Yet its no casual trade; reserved for the bravest of hearts.
For only annealed souls would perhaps withstand the suffering,
I've been promised in the darkest chambers of hell where I've been promised reservation,
by the very same men who once came seeking refuge.
Behind masks, from public lecterns, their pompous, pontifical proclaimation."
"Darkest recesses of an Infernus? Will that be fiery or dark?
Would it be an oxymoron, as my calming, arousing touch?
The soothing fire of carnal pang and libidinous zeal?"
"Ah, the hypocrisies of man!
Ecclesiastical clientale and eclectic customers, all desirous of the same, sinful pilgrimage to the darkest chambers of a hell, ablaze and alit with divine orgasm."
"A museum of oxymorons - placating lust, relieving pang, nursing toil, tending task, a weariness to rid weariness,
and the compulsion of choice! "