Of Whitby Swelterpassion
/Steven Ilchev, 2003/
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To an incredibly beautiful lady and the magical North Yorkshire village we were so blessed to roam through with symphonic heartbeats, under summer's scorching spell and Dracula's scintillating eerie grin
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Meet the dame of swelterpassion
swing a tear of delight
while the scintillating prism-vision
beaches are vampirically bright
Meet the dame, breathe no longer
conventionality is thrust aside
as free-falling into magnetism
cannot be historically trite!
Whitby is within me,
my ghoulish goosebumps tell a tale
of listening to Dracula chanting
as the dame grips me
and her touch just never flails...
amid hot amorou-airborne sailing!
I free-fell again and again
still free-falling as I speak,
I countenance those Whitby moments
zooming forever more,
my grotesque mind will ne'er leak
Ne'er again, tis solid now
and climbing those two-hundred steps
or so to the hillways of our
kissways and that euphoric murmur:
"Oh, blist'ring summergaze... Oh, Whitby!"
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