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Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, and good night! Whatever time it is where you are, I hope you are well. A while ago,< fa:Marmoratus> opened this gorgeous YCH of a nude woman peering out her window and immediately I saw Perci in her place. Fast forward to now, and I present to you the finished piece. Marmoratus does plenty of amazing YCHs and frequently opens commissions, so feel free to check out her gallery if you like what you see.

Once again, I decided to experiment a bit with my writing style; this time, delving into poetry. Given how a lot of my content involving Perci is about Pat’s relationship with her, I decided to switch things up a bit and write a love poem from her first lover Andrew’s point-of-view. It took me a while to find a rhyme scheme I was happy with, but I think it suits Andrew’s prose well.

If you’d like a digital copy of the poem, you can find one right here!

And of course I have to thank wellifimust for proofreading, as well as the fine people at the Writer’s Slam at FurPocalypse who let me present this and offered constructive criticism.

Muse

A poem by Andrew Safdie

A morning I was woken much too soon,

As a ray of light did place,

But a touch upon my face,

Shearing me from slumber’s grace,

I raised my weary bones to leave the room,

With tea, I watch the news and soon am spent,

Cousins far are waging war,

Politicians moan and roar,

Fossils wash away our shores,

Can one find peace in such a world unkempt?

But while my apathy has hit a low,

With a creak upon the floor,

She who dances ‘cross the boards.

Is my poodle paramour,

Her body bare with everything to show,

An object in some lesser being’s eyes,

To be owned instead of loved,

Then forgotten when enough,

Washed away by tissue’s scuff,

Should one’s mere being lead to such demise?

Well, no, of course! But still, she is no prude,

Without even Eden’s leaves,

In the midst of who perceives,

In a record, she achieves,

a great arousal showing herself nude,

Does saying this alone appear a gaffe?

Irregardless, in her truth,

I have found my certain proof,

There in her flamboyant youth,

Is more than just a punchline for a laugh,

So take a gander ‘bove her hilltop view,

Up the shoulder to the neck,

Past the lips I fondly peck,

And your vision ends its trek,

At eyes that shine an amethystine hue,

A gaze of empathy for all she meets,

Whether if it’s for the pride,

Foreign angels forced to hide,

Or war victims who have died,

She sees the strife and marches through the streets,

Her smile and laugh, too, rest upon her face,

Conversations that she spores,

From the questions she implores,

And the way she says, “I’m yours,”

Can leave my knotted mind as light as lace,

But ‘neath the skin and bone, there lies her mind,

Magna Writ in her degree,

Psych eval, her specialty,

Lets her see so easily,

The masks the modern man must hide behind.

She sees the kindness longing to come out,

Through the compliments of praise,

Or the sighs of bland malaise,

Or the swears of maddened blaze,

She spots the better person through the doubt,

And with agape, highest of all love,

She strips away the gall,

A better self with ev’ry spall,

Left the purest you of all,

A feeling almost proof of God above,

So while her black ram tuppeth my white ewe,

As she sits upon the sill,

Looking out at Autumn’s chill,

Visible and unclad still,

No lust is there behind my “I love you!”

In her, my role, my heart and soul eclipsed,

Even in the insecure,

Morn’ is made by her allure,

As I hug her I’ll be sure,

To kiss her head before I kiss her lips.

~Signed with love,

Andrew Safdie