Ode to my domme

Statue, domme morrigan, never tasted your golden honey, struck

By wonder, what is beauty? When your sight is gold is’t tasted

Superficially? Maybe in impression, every moment

I’ve beheld you, a new statue to love more than the last one, tho

All the same golden woman? Is Beauty your spirit, strictness,

Your magic art to behold, is it goddess incarnate in you, or

Mirror staring back at me? Seems to me, it’s just to be you, as you

Are, the way you exist in the world, in such manner, you just

Being yourself, because you are, in manner, g, someone

Worth more than golden honey, just had superficially, more than

Beauty, who appears, an imposter, she’s brought to envy,

When the highest a compliment can be is: g is just g