The Priest and the Nun


The night blanketed in an autumn chill
Leaves treading lightly to the soil’s fill

Patches of burgundy amidst skeletal maples
Rustling and rocking to the fall mistrals

The moon pries from her heavenly perch
At a lass sitting outside an archaic church

The night juvenile sprouting of desire
For her heart is a lantern kindled by fire

She sits on a bench amidst carpets of foliage
The rouge of her lips silent yearning for her stage

A reclusive hideout nestled on holy soil
Amidst the prowling eyes as tombstones toil

Her soul a mustang tempestuous and bold
Her heart a bonfire flagrant amidst the perpetuating cold

She walks with a compass fixed to her meridian
To the true north of a prince with portals obsidian

She could see his hearth through the lucid glass
Of a noble soul enamored with his only lass

She stood still like a seed waiting for the advent of spring
To germinate a love as perfect as a ring

The night flustered as footsteps were nigh
As a boy appeared from the shadows nearby

As sprightly moonbeams prostrated to the call of gravity
Her succulent chambers were embellished with charity

A kiss lingered on, four lips in a mushy clasp
As nostrils searched for vitality, naked and agasp

As on a lonely churchyard by a maple forest
Two robes disheveled to unfold a love in her rarest

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