Philosophical mood

Your form beautiful to look on, my muse to look on in celebration, I attempt incantation:

Wannabe trying to pitch their own ass, anarchy lost in advertisement,

Slave to mistress of sovereignty, for lack of one’s own separate perfection, Ideals twist in my mouth, change form,

Fail your portrait, again, a perfect anarchist world not a turn on,

My morality lost anarchy, imperfect ideals, seeks a buyer, love in incomplete transaction,

My mind fights like a knight it’s own life, imbalanced, would die for its lady,

I want morals of gold, but I’ve sold them for love,

And anyway, black becomes gold around my soul,

I sell out to you, try as hard as I can to exchange it for your perfection, my Ideal,

I fight for your Ideal, an ideal world where hangs your portrait above me, and trying, fail,

And in trying, I’m finding my lack,

For I want you with a passion, that would make you immortal, if it meant you’d want me too,

I fight it, don’t worry, in my imperfection, and toss and turn, and put my daga down,

Cause it’s pattern cannot fight your Ideal,

Into this poem, I set my spirit, it seeks perfection, my duende, to my slave spirit, to my Ideal, you’re Perfection become Real form;

And my mind says, geez, raelene, you’re into s and m:

How’d you do it, g, become a goddess?