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Betsy adores itsy bitsy spiders and beetles in fields of strawberries.
Sporting a blue leotard with no sleeves.
I love the way she speaks to me.
She dons a crimson sash around her hips
I was mesmerized by her nips.
Bosom clad like moons in her bodysuit.
A physique of Venus, crafted by Athena.
From the Shire of Essex, Britain.
Outfit for combat in a second.
My glance, her smirk invokes a tension.
Which beckons both of us, preemptive.
I softly graze Betsy's cheeks.
To kiss her softly and sleek.
The shape of her caboose, how she flaunts it.
She laces her boots and gauntlets.
Fancying a dual or clash, poised to kick some serious... trash.
She'll dash with a remark ,that's utterly crass.
This task is the spark, with marks it a blast.
This berserk cerebral, non-passive creature.
A tiger lily with perfume of a war eagle.
Yet to me, she is a lovely English darling daffodil.
Beloved Betsy, I long to twirl your hair and riddle you with hickies.
Disrobe you of your costume and pleasure you swiftly.
She spars for thrill, but I instill her with tranquility.
Betsy, won't you approach near?
So I can kiss you and love you, and call you my dear.
Forsake your daggers, and acquire my bough.
For I am your shield, it sweats from my brow.
copyright 2013, Keith Fuchs all rights reserved.
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