Cytherea

I dreamed she was Cytherea, with liquid propitious eyes,
But she stared at me too deeply, and  I saw myself despised.
She spoke well of her fierce lovers, all strong men of harsh repute,
And those who pledged a longing for her heart of bitterroot.

They cawed like brooding ravens, they craved her fragrant heat,
I knelt before her, unadorned, the shame of my conceit.
Denied of all her ardor, my faith was thus revoked,
I pleaded for compassion, and wept when I awoke.

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