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King Of Hearts
The forward clipping miles towards my gloaming home are swiftly slipping by
when gallant Brash Faestean lifting, pulls his mighty head up..
whinnying in the wooded chaste abode of silent spiralling mist.
The spying silvery moon is fastly filling, styled aplenty with shimmery-shine..
the bended smiling gods of filing fate have left no flying whip of soaring shadows here.
T'is chipping bright as glowing day and my agreeable deeded steed,
he of noble-blooded lineage well remembers this same small greyslate clearing,
near the river heading scene.
Diversed with milling madwort crests and dipping slivered valleys,
the very gashing spot where I first gazed upon the stunning vision
of my Sweet Loving Vinya..
unclad in her beloved splendor, I coveted the savored favor of the dark-eyed Gypsy Queen.
My exploding breadth of heart drifting flows like the rippling rile of mighty rapids,
roaring marvelous, shifting wild and crashing deep..
blends with the gushing love I have for my beguiling wife, my cunning bested bride.
She aligning holds her slender tended arms out, not an ounce of lending shy
as she gracefully tumbles closely to my leather vested chest..
her eyes flash flipping sharp, but belie the sipping words of utmost joy
that fall from her pouting rubied lips.
" My Most Gracious Lord, Treo' Riparius, my stalwart god on land
bids you welcome to his illuminated branching hooded rood..
my affusioned place of lapping baptised worship. "
The random gods of fate are rating fair and we tipping pitch our tents,
not barring far from juicy-bledded huckleberries and flowering bilberry bushes.
With mallable talent the plucky lad Arveen, begins his hired squiring service..
unbridled sliding off the overloaded packhorse,
it behooves him to remove the sewn together pelts,
wooden poles, and stakes of course.
He drolly laughs as he unrolls our furry softhide bedding..
then choring stores in stacking lines bulging necessities we will need.
This is the glenning holy shore where first my frozen feet stood grounded..
angeled faeries bringing the unringed, untouched by any earthly flinging man,
unmarried woman as duly promised and averred.
Written-sealed and delivered as my dashing clashing destiny,
the tarot-cards foretold in fluming fortune by my own gypsied mother
many seered years before my dawning day of birth.
Bedecked, bejewled mantilla-combed in sparkling dewdrop diamonds,
glinting splashing rainbow prisimed water..
my shattered battered heart awakening to the goodly feminine wiles of Venus rising,
she of dripping naked bronzen skin.
Loving Vinya is my cure-all medicine
bred-to-the-bone next of sharing kin..
her dreamy gleaming eyes linking,
she drinks in my overflowing supping cup of simple truthfilled words.
She lowing keens, falls to her dimpled knees indulged in rapt abandonment,
offering her thanksgiving prayers and Romany adapted meditations
to the black-crowed dreaded god who led me here.
" I must wholly consecrate, shoaling mold anew, state just who and what I am..
shortly present myself to the Lily Lady Consorts.
Once the only daughtered maiden Loving Vinya, now the married virgin bride..
fraught confess my duressed sins.
They will floating court, console, befriend, sending guide and protect us
from the wrathful gripping vile of the nipping hateful gypsy men.
As yet they do not know this sacred treelined dwelling
where I have freely lived, prayed in meeded signs and belling played..
passing scoured hours since I was a lassing child,
securely purified and burnished in this homaged den.
They branded female moonbeams in my swooning heart..
to ripping pierce dire myriad trials and the fiercest tribulations.
In coal black ashes rent of medallioned sacraments, I must bowing honor them..
before the bodied consummation rites that make us touching senses,
pleasing man and wife. "
She looks fondly to blond Arveen, is gentle in conferring roaning tones,
" Will you kindly fetch my netted bag of pinning pelletted green? "
" My declared bosom-cherished wife, Sweet Loving Vinya,
you are furlonged wrong to basking ask what my hired squire cannot give..
for young Arveen knows not where it is gleaning hid. "
I breaching reach, delving deep within my double-edged claymore sworded saddlebag,
and retreive said item that she wants.
Prancing high, dangled nigh above her luxuriant dark-crowned head,
" One little kiss and it is yours to have and hold. "
" But of course, Kind Master, Sir. " She does not hinting bat an eyelash,
and I bending tend to capture kiss her redly ripened lips.
Sweet Loving Vinya is no easy giver..
her hackles rise, she readily tackles with her outstretched claws,
paws scratching like a hellbent scallioned lioness!
My mind adrift with unstiff hilarity, I finning pin her arms..
with lightning force, take my whiffing pleasured kiss, then release my honied source.
She looks at me as if to say, " You have had your toady little fun,
but toying boys and lusty men are not to be buried treasure trusted. "
Harsh tarnished lessons garnered from the bashing strong-armed Romany men
God only knows where or when I will pepperminting pay,
but I look ever forward to the jeopard taming game..
My marshglen Gypsy Queen is no poorly scheming shrew.
She takes her huffy-hurrumped peavish leave,
while the bright-eyed lad Arveen and I pitch tents
beneath the glittering stars of the silver Pleiades..
the splendid seven daughters of Atlas and Pleione.
I merry-whistle the same listing tune, the singing song of gailey wandering minstrels..
as on the crooning morn my heart unleashed it's curdling burden,
no longer weighted down by the rending rocks of discontent.
My squired youngster tiredly yawns and looping rubs his droopy eyes.
" You have cluing proved to be an ace of cards, hardworking, an enterprising lad..
I shall be your barding mentor, your advising protector and your championed father-figure.
The clamping chill of dawning day comes chigging early,
and I need your clerking diligence as we take our further journey. "
Lean Arveen lies boyish down into a snoring curling ball..
my walking footfalls churning echo, stalking to the churring river's edge.
I faintly see my dainty Loving Vinya..
her spritely woman's shadow quiet, slow emerging from the purging yellow lilypads.
She boldly holds fast within her two small clenching fists,
a dark-aged snarled, gnarled tree root..
raised unflinching in the plumripe summer air.
She pluming stands adorned, vision-formed in all her female glory..
clinging necklace vines, twined in yellow-green.
" Treo' Riparius, as your Wifely Lady Consorts have consented,
presented purling entwined bodies all to you
to sweetly breed and unfurling multiply in yearning plying love..
my spooning swooning body now I offer purposely,
freely to my grandee husband, the gypsy man named Morgan LaRue. "
My hungry longing, whelping presence felt,
my kindling-bride flings wide the welcoming invitation of her circling arms.
Lighter than a sparrow-feathered bird she is,
I do not wasting tarry, weightless carry her to my own pelted tent..
lay her lofty woman's softness near my cleaving-heaving chest.
Not low-browed smirky shirking,
she sees my gimlet eyes are drenched with steadfast love..
I gently woo, gluing slowly win her gingered soul.
Her virgin's merging body like the Dusky Rose of Sharon,
pouring forth in sudden perfumed budding love for me..
sighing spent in whispered solemn vows as our nightnoise bodies blend
ancient-wending holy-mated matrimonial rites.
Devoted husband and precious wife,
we spellbound lay encircled in each other's clamshell arms
as the dawning day approaches with it's reaching light.
" Kind Casting Master and Sweet Wistful Mistress. "
Polite of mannered deeds, Young Arveen spreads a delightful wedding feast before us..
crusty bread, fresh fleshy pippin fruits, and sweetly strong hot mugs of tea.
His darting eyes start looking to and fro,
sighting right and clefting left of the shiny-leaved red meadow fescue.
He hustling knows the funk of drunken Romany men
untractable reacting to being bested
by a droving rover, tussling outsider to their gypsy land.
Although I am showing want to grinning linger longer
with my plushly blushing bride..
in boding haste, I load the sturdy tracking packhorse and we are on our speedy way.
We sloshing cross the mighty Moschatel River, north-bound fording at it's lowest point..
cleanly hearing-ears pitched towards the flecking echoes
of the crassy jackass Romany men.
Their Celtic bellowing and cursing tongues
spit in spiteful grating nerves on the other curving side.
The slashing hours rush gaiting by, stashed in galloped gaping miles..
this time bounding round in the greenwood hooded northeast prickly thickets
not a naping hair on my draping neck
dares stand strident tall at strenuous attention.
No smashing scary shadows nigh to appearing as a starkly rash, dark and bitter crone..
a harpy critter needing to be fed,
stunted unserene, mean-spirited and lonely.
She is the blooming forest-sprite, the soothing cooling goddess fair
whose clarity guards us from the sharpened rays,
burning shards of heated noonday sun.
Loving Vinya, my fiery Gypsy Queen, and the lanky toothsome lad, young Arveen,
have become my quested true-found family
as we flanking travel far from the southern roaming range..
no turning back to ponder, we gladly stop our rippled nomad wanderings
for some siesta days, recouping levied rest.
Soon favonian Arveen will aspiring come of inquiring age
and he must firnwind learn,
to inspire the turtledove love of a special fresh-dewed woman,
either single-mingling young or harried-married old
each calendered female has leading need of her own fending private time.
We knotting tie our fishing lines with misshapen plotted lures, reddish wiggling worms..
simply drop them splashing into bedding waters calm.
We brooking hook the green-streaked fish, swiftly silvered spots..
pull out one and then another in the sheering clear serenity of the wooded pond.
Two silly-willy giggling males, aflopping mess, we take them back to Loving Vinya..
she is dueling gypsified, boldly dressed in fiery dropping jewels.
Swishing dance-step remnants razing round the roaring shored-up campfire,
my ravishing temptress wife lights ablaze my stash of mashing blood..
lasting lost in swaying rhythms jangling tambourined chimes.
I beaming whisper to Arveen, " I heard bruiting rumors about your brilliant cooking skills..
When Loving Vinya and I return,
I want a spitch-cock hashing meal fit for a King and Queen. "
I cunning run to my beloved, skirling swirl her round and round..
billet doux show my hallmarked heart is filled with love for her, divine.
Wedding banded hands entwined we gawking walk through pastoral spilling hills..
the countryside is grassy-wide, pinetree crested the highest one of all.
At the blunted slashing cliff's edge Sweet Vinya asks,
" Which is the dredging way to our cleaving manored home? "
I jointing point in directions northward,
" Faraway in the mizzling misted moors of greyish climes. "
The afternoon sun is doomed to drizzle setting,
gloaming colors warm with clashing passion.
Aiding and abetting Apollo's mallable pallette
we selecting blissful kiss as artistic lovers often do.
The shady-bladed shadows slowly lengthen 'neath the strengthening twilight sky.
Gently wafting drafting smells come to meeting greet us..
Arveen's brickthick hearty fish stew basting in his pipkin pot,
spit-sizzling gill-grilled eel and tender pastried hot cross buns,
flaking in our hungry mouths.
Filled to the overflowing brim with chimnied satisfaction,
the covered hour grows late at hand.
Wifely Vinya enthusiastically alluring,
assures me she will never leave my husband-guiding side..
not a futured minute wasted, we reeling seal our chastely married vows
consumed within the bodied bonds, we attune our holy love.
With no acute aversions we traverse ever closer,
to the abuttals of my stone cluster-worked loaming castle walls.
We inhale the valing perfumed breeze sublimely in fullbloom,
culminating from the parterres a l'anglais wine-scented rosegardens.
We clopping trot across the banking planks
Yorking built above the forking floodgate's mossy flume..
the bursting forth of white watered foam, the silty channel-sluiced moat.
" My Loving Vinya, welcome to the kinning dominion
of your newfound grounded home..
you are my seasoned reason lifelong choice and soon to be crowned Queen. "
My freeborn loyal subjects, blathering happy throngs have gathered..
baldly staring peer, voices shouting loud in their collective breath.
" Our mighty fighting King is no longer bleary,
no sorrowed lines or clinging crags befall our seeing eyes.
We hear no failing wails of teary dreary weeping,
droaning moaning cries or groaning continuations he cannot deny.
His gladsome smiling countenance no longer sags,
happiness does not elude him..
called forth from yesterdays, the gifted present of this day,
or the leisured future of tomorrows. "
In the designated high and holy vestments
of my own border ordered kingdom,
Sweet Loving Vinya is Coronation Crowned with the joysome royal diadem.
We hosting toast in crystal glasses..
sweet with honey, ginger-spiced hippocras wine.
I declare a full moon's month of spelling celebrations
for my red-lipped gypsy wife is now their comely Queen.
The plotting finest of our etching craftsmen have surprised her
with a fetching wedding present..
a smalto likeness of her graceful face,
a curlicue formed mosaic of pottery shards, hardened glass and Salic tiles.
An unfurling window that will scoping open on a daily basis,
bestowing the serenity of Mother Nature's scene below her.
In her first shawling act as lawful Queen, she is ever clever-serious..
we oar-rowing boat to my small private holm.
Tree surrounded island in the middle of the lake,
her fated responsibility is to figging dig and plant her god, responsive.
Treo' Riparius shall feel at shaded home among the gladed Ladylilies she has set adrift..
yellow, mellow buttercups on the bright blue dewing surface waters.
We offer fluttered married homage, ask in reverence for his eternal blessing loam.
The clinging Lady Consorts mingling, gave their wisely wifed reply..
I lay my greatful hand upon Sweet Vinya's swelling belly,
babygrowing happiness is gleaming
from my eyesight in the pureness of delight.
The Gypsy Queen
Glossing lost in functional wondering we champing gallop clipping far
from my father's gypsy camp.
When the mighty breeded steed of knight-errant Morgan LaRue
lifts his noble whinnying head..
stopping in the slated middle of a cobbled flint-rocked clearing that I know so well.
Morgan LaRue booms in deep male voice as he dashing catches me
dosing close in his strongly muscled arms.
" Yes, t'is the very trussled spot to knotting pitch our dwelling tents
for we are in need of a restfilled night. "
I smiling chant in greatful canting praises,
knowing that my personal sodded god, Treo' Riparius
toking spoke in sundog animal tongue..
to guide my husband's black-maned horse, Brash Faestean
to his lodestar secret seeking place of rightful holy worship.
The uncarved harvest moon shines down his cited light,
brighter than the rays of noonday sun.
I clanning stand on tiptoe with my bridegroom husband,
nose to nose no budging of his judging piercing eyes..
the love he has for me glows like the pooling sheltered coves
where the Lady Consorts drifting live.
All his caring married vows of true fidelity
finding, delve their way into my woman's beating heart..
I chancel fall to my praying knees, raise my chantry arms to heaven,
caught divine in thought and mind.
The Ballet Dallied Cupping Lilies call me
to rally round their floating moistened womb..
prepare my virgin offering, the coupling of my body, heart and soul. "
The jostling tousled lad is ever gracious as he helps me lacing rise.
" I am in fated need of my meager dowried bag. "
The answered reply comes not from darting smart Arveen,
but from the laughing persistent mouth of the handsome Morgan LaRue..
quick as a crashing flash of lightning bolt,
he dolting holds my few possessions charting far above my reaching hands.
He says his one sired requirement is for our mated lips to partaking meet and join.
That is not loining right or cooling proper yet, noli me tangere..
prohibited from all showing forms of requested intimate touching,
I shall straying play him for a jestered fool.
" Gentle Master, as you listing wish, " but as he deeming leans in for his gushing prize,
I rushing knock him over.
Destine lessons learned from the best of meddlesome Romany men..
fraughting taught from childhood by my countless cousins,
brooding uncles and their fount of brothers.
I try to raking scrape my reddened nails, lambasting shock so he will let me go..
but my mocking husband knows my every shamming move.
Embracing tighter than a snaking boa, no clefting breath left in me..
he is lento gentle with his leisured skillful kiss
and I feel my sinuous flesh candle-melting into his.
Enthralled with the dangling entanglement of goosebumped shivers..
he drolling rolls my pliant body over,
leaves crying confusion in my sorrowed soul.
He and squired young Arveen deplete complete the sturdy stacking packhorse..
securing sure on solid poles two dutied pitching tents.
Gladsome tidings madly rise within me,
a fluttering butterfly flitting on the cool caressing breeze.
I swearing hear the flaring selfsame whistling teasing tune
that flowing wafted as I shoaling bathed beneath the mighty manroot treelimbs
the arching barked branches of Treo' Riparius,
my personal shawling stalwart god on land.
Now I perceive it was no stranger's veining thoughts
or unseen ghostly apparition that cast curious netted longings
upon my cosseted woman's flesh..
but the sharpened eagle eyes of my barbarian husband
as he began to fall in love with me.
E're bonny long he shall cast his slaking eyes upon my naked female charms again..
I must dalles converge the male and female gods and goddesses,
offer merging homage as my marriage due.
Immersed rehearsing in the gnarled visage held within my hands,
my linking body sinks beneath the cupping lilies..
I swaying pray for supple babies from my milieu couplings,
I pray for cherished love both day and night.
Advised I rise, caping draped in yellow clinging vines wrapped around Treo' Riparius..
steading ready to present the powered seizing prize, the magical sigil gift,
the priceless treasured pearl of my virginity to the husband husking core of Morgan LaRue.
He is up to the falchioned challenge, his eyes drenched deep with loving adoration..
throws all halting caution to the spindling winds of change
and carries me to our marriage bed.
My abundant doving love for him is budding like the Dusky Rose of Sharon
as we fairing share the bodily delights that two true hearts filled with love can bring.
As the spawning light of dawning day appears,
I lay snug embraced within my hugging husband's loving arms.
His hired-squired lad, blond of brow Arveen
lays a pledging wedding feast before our hungry eyes.
There is no gaysome leisured time for pleasured festivities, we must eat in hurried haste..
dress warmly for our further journey homeward.
Young Arveen has keenly mapped the river,
leads the loaded packhorse and boldly black Brash Faestean
to the shallow rocky beds where the water flows in currents swift, not deep.
On the edge's far side thickly vined with underbrush,
the sundered path is narrow through the prickly thicket.
The bald-faced hatred, baiting aspersions of the mean-voiced horde of Romany men
echo in the sterling silence..
the shadowed forest is our dappled friend, kind arming shelter
to keep us pooling cool, not squinty-eye and overheated in the hot of noonday sun.
Green-leafed branches giving lazy way to central meadowlands,
perfumed flowers and lancing dancy grasses..
their gaming names I do not know.
I hear the silver river calling brooking songs that fortune tell us when to stop.
The furpelted tents are lashing pitched again..
then Morgan LaRue and his enterprising lad,
take their gentlemen's leave, giving me some coveted private time.
I embosom dress in Gypsy Queen finery..
fashioned peasant's blouse and swirling skirt,
hooped earrings, bangled bracelets, toerings made of gold.
I secretly removed the jangling jewels
from the petunia padded hips of my mother's wedding dress..
I have sorely missed my ransomed dancing,
my tambourined heart has played no violin tunes.
My fleeting feet have lived in lacking torment,
but now they are freed from their dying tomb.
I build a roaring fire, clinking-shake my rattling tambourine,
lost in plaited woven reverie..
the heated fever leaves me breathless with a fond desire.
I tinkling laugh and splendor sing in gay surrender,
my fawning spirit fathomless free.
I feel deep chasmed eyes felling dwell upon me,
t'is my fascinating husband, Morgan LaRue..
he has not been dazen favored with my gypsy's wild dance of savoring flavored love.
I will never severing change for t'is part of my inbred Romany heritage..
he lingers with his smiling face and tightly clings his arms around my nipped-in waist,
flirting twirls me round and round and I know I am accepted.
Morgan LaRue clowning sets me soundly down, entwines my trembling hand..
we walk uphill to the craggy crest,
watch the red-tinged setting sun,
as his manly kiss ignites the burning passion that I feel.
The flame of blazing campfire beckons in the twilit darkening hour..
Arveen has proved himself as ditting handy.
No finer dining meal than simmering stew and hotcross buns..
we meating eat until our stomachs' full.
Not observed in our castled tent, I nestle closely to my husband's side
and whisper sweetly, " Purview, I shall never leave you. "
I seal this promissory note with my female body, breathing warm with gentle sighs.
The peaking week has quickly passed in searing wedded pleasures,
flickering inspiration grows..
we raveling travel, smell consuming perfume,
a thousand full-bloomed roses drifting meet us.
Stone-cluster worked high turretted walls groan grey as a wooden plank is lowered..
we gloating cross a flowing moat
and my gestering husband says, " Welcome to our dunning humble home. "
I am clefting left to wonder just who and what he is..
my chancing answer is forthcoming in cunning words of strange delight.
" I am the true-born King of all that your galliard eyes survey,
written in the tomes of Domes-Day Book..
and soon you shall be my own adored, coronated Queen. "
His loyal subjects publicly gather, strongly throng about him in joyful jubilation,
" All hail our wedded King, all hail our wedded Queen! "
My Queenship must not be mulling sullied, but standing tried and true..
on the gleaming eve of my ranking coronation,
hidden deep within the massive castle hall,
my Kingly husband bidding sends for a sanctified priest to lawful marry us again.
My High Royal Husband crowns the jeweled diadem upon my bowing head..
I reeling feel the doling holy fates, the gods and goddesses supreme,
sing their celestial blessing rites.
A mooning month of rightsome feasts and spooning celebrations grand is ordered.
A curative surprise, a taste of sighted joy comes from the best of etching craftsmen..
my windowed face, a gracing signalment of mosaic tilings.
No more forlorn, from each misty morning's dawn
till the determined setting of the sun
shall I nooking look above the private lake to the centered island holm
where I have planning planted the manroot of my ever stalwart god.
He is found surrounded by his floating Lady Consorts, the yellow cupping lilies..
they have granted my petitioned longings
as our married bodies double couple after due payment homage.
My proudly beaming husband lays his Kingly hands upon my swelling belly
and in the coming epiphany week
he will be bellowing greeted by the advent of his princely son, the future king.
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