(This poem is in progress, but I wanted to go ahead and type it out before I lose my nerve.)
If I am your aim of conquest or
if my heart is truly your goal,
words alone will not tempt me,
only action will do.
I am the Haggard Woman,
only becoming beautiful at night.
I am not your wanton demure princess,
decorated and amused at jokes
that take no wit or talent to think up.
My soul craves knowledge,
a ravenous beast who feasts on Philosophy
stopping to adore Philology.
I am a bibliophile
following quotes and passages
figuring out the fountain of learning
and drinking until my belly is so close to
bursting that I roll to the side asleep,
dreaming of a life determining my career
based solely on my passion.
Do I bleed enough ink?
See this Haggard Woman’s deepest desire?
Confusion diminishes your demise,
and I become the destitute
as you focus on your score.
So often lofty lovers don’t think out
collateral damage, but I digress…
If conquest be your aim, I implore you deeper.
Beauty fades as age defiles youth,
and believe me, wisdom takes its toll
on a smile, on a mind, on a soul.
If you were Gawain, valiant and shining
what would you remember the lesson
or would you selfishly choose?