Cage Of Consecutive Commas

I stand at her ivory gates, tempting bell beckons,
"English" is written, gilded text outside the walls,
Left appendix entended, I pull that rope, silence still for seconds,
The sound of celestial metals struck, a sense of awe installs.
Elephantine gates swing ajar, so as to let a mortal within,
A hesitant soul I am, tentative feet shuffle across silver sand clouds,
That make up the shifting grounds, walls of whispering Blanc de Chine,
Suddenly, waves of dancing viola vocals wash me over, a voice heard aloud,
I comprehend that astronomical voice of the finest silk spun in the depths of Asia,
Aloud it speaks, welcomes me in, my overwhelmed brain does lazy spins,
Feet gain momentum and I speak a slight greetings, which is lost in this fantasia,
No response is graced upon me, so I pause then venture further within.
Shrouds of guarding sheets of cashmere part to allow me through,
And I see her in all her angelic beauty, from her flowing waterfalls of thick copper hair,
To her statuesque body assembled from powdered velvet skin, hungry eyes pause to chew,
Downwards my eyes grace her ballerina legs to her perfect pedicure, electrified like Voltaire.
Her succubus lips part way as if to give a mesmerising kiss, but instead she speaks,
Asks my mortal soul why I have come, demands my reason for coming,
I stumble as I attempt to speak, but all my mouth does is pathetically squeak,
She raises an eyebrow in a question mark, impatient fingers drumming.
The words jump out after they heroically battle through my fumbling tongue,
"I came to win your heart" I declare, words barely sound in this great expanse,
But she hears them loud and clear, a pause, then a silver laugh is sung,
She looks at me, spears thrust from her sea-blue eyes, spears that put me in a trance.
With eyes interlocked, she explains that very few mortals she has loved,
She names off a few with a wishful breath, Yeats, Stevenson, Whitman and Poe,
I step backwards in slow deliberate steps, I cannot compete, my heart has been shoved,
But then I cerebrate that she has not rejected me yet, a chance I have, small although.
I explain my self to her, I tell her I need her love to break out of this cage that confines,
My emotion is stuck in substandard expression, stuck in between commas consecutive,
Unable to transcend the cage that prevents expression from truly escaping my lyrical lines,
That I must express my troubled mind, my experiences in a manner semantically executive.
She ponders my pleas, then a supple hand extends, fingers beckon for the proof poetic,
I swallow my fear of judgement to the pits of digestion, then hand a scrawled paper,
Her eyes graze my poem, tasting, then they turn to stare into mine, face sympathetic,
She makes a lissome step in my direction, my heart boils, blood becomes a vapor.
Her lips pucker and she draws close, hands tend to mine in a movement rhythmic,
Her tongue caresses my own in a nymph-moist kiss, washes me in a drenching downpour,
Of a million blood-raw emotions, a thousand articles of knowledge, in my mental they stick,
Colours explode in my heart, a myriad of eye-bending expressions of heartfelt glory, never before.
She draws away, myself stunned in a love-struck trance, mind stuck in a middle school slow dance,
Lips part yet again, to speak, her golden words drift like kites into my welcoming ears,
She explains that our love would not last, she smiles and I realise I've had my chance,
But although I have failed to win her heart, I am not sad, shed no tears.
Because,
Every year I return to her graceful home, her heart I repeatedly attempt to take,
For she left me with a love for her taste, the English language, my heart she engaged,
To win her over, my dormant expression and semantics, from their sleep they would wake,
But without her, the expression of emotions unable to soar, stuck in a cage,
Stuck in a cage of consecutive commas, until the secrets are seduced.

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