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Goddess of Passion

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A flash of red,

a wavy flame.

Not the destructive,

manipulative fire of man,

but rather,

the soft, vibrant tresses

of a goddess.

A private goddess of passion and power.

She is the key to our hopes and dreams.

This woman has only one worshiper,

one devout patron.

She entices me with her milky white skin,

her rich voice.

Her laughter like a choir's song.

At her alter, I lay

food offerings and flowers.

The same flowers that remind me

of her beauty and strength.

Though it a shame,

I want to keep her likeness

to myself.

Let no other man lay eyes on her,

for fear they snatch her away,

her image their own goddess.

Then again,

I can never wish for my goddess to have me.

She is everything above me,

of a powerful breed

and I am nothing more than human.

For now,

I satisfy myself by looking into

her fascinating eyes,

which bewitch me ever so

and try as hard as I can

to make her laugh.

Whatever makes her happy

makes me the same.

In the day, she is the sun,

but come Midnight,

she is the milky moonlight that shines on me.

Infiltrating my dreams,

the temptress to my soul.

She hovers oh so close, teasing,

chuckling at my hesitance.

Doing so, she sends her sweet breath

washing over me,

giving my skin tickling prickles of pleasure.

Oh, Lady Hope,

you are a goddess that will not fade with

the sands of time.

I will always be on my knees,

ready for your word,

waiting for your caress.