For Amy, a glorious beauty of whom I remain most appreciative for her patronage.

Her eyes, and must it not begin so,
being not merely looking glasses to the spirit,
rather also the gateway to hope for futures
well spent in nobler pursuit and discourse,
they ensared my fascination as if in a web
of sinewy strength and perceptible scintillations,
likening to the shimmer of her wheaten hair

Oh, how I have imagined well, in prodigious fondness
of softly scented reminisce, of tangling my fingers within
the gilded bars of her locks, whilst enraptured in soft
and lingering kisses, dashed across like Oceanus' furor
those pale and bountiful lips

likening to succulent fruits, the hue of angels breadth
ascendant upon the dawn, I dreamed of embraces with them,
and the potency of my hearts convisction
issued utterance, imperceptible yet for a moan
that howled as the low wind from earthen depths

She professed a wish for the nomadic existance,
how I would impress upon her across the lands of this world
the wanderlust of blushing breaths across her delicate breast,
her peach blossom nape, the continuation of my travels
across flesh that reminds me of all these glorious places