Pale Pearls from a Purple Pulse

I must solicit, 

Through the influence of your honorable body 

Ascertainable by alluring enticement 

Atop some mountain in a dream, so lofty! 

And, does thy heaven know this name? 

Yes—it (previously) had the honor. 

Alas, would Hell then grant an introductory? 

Assuredly, with the greatest pleasure tomorrow. 

This garden like a lady fair, 

Lay trimmed where its waters rise, 

Its fountain spouts a watered wish 

While releasing an opal shower 

Eddies of smoke purloin my prayer 

From the unendurable oppression ov the sigh 

O'er ebon dress, where bosoms rest, 

Brushing through a painted thought. 

With lurid gaze along twilight tide 

Reminiscent of winter when love arrived, 

Passions pour from an uncommon spring 

Appalled! When that love hath dried. 

And to the open sky eyes shut 

On youthful legs which refused to close, 

Palpitable pounding on purple pulse 

Gasm’d by the whisper of morning’s want. 

Pale pearls drop by pulling grasp, 

While rabid bouncing trots on stones, 

Clamorous ticks from the moaning lent 

Hourly hands to kill a clock 

Cerements unveiling bride or rather, 

—a worm that would not die, 

Emaciated and grotesquely hewn 

From the apple of my eye! 

Does this devil approach thee? 

No. Hell rejects the offer. 

Alas, will Heaven now accept thine arms? 

At the wake? Oh, so surely, Not!