Cottage

How gullible is this little empress  So unaware of these shenanigans  She embosoms a pretentious sleeping face  And nibbles at my sideburns As she chants her dulcet hums  I capture each and every inch  Of her niveous complexion  That eclipses the spirit of wintertide Dawn being an escape artist  Leaves her heartfelt tunes  To grow a bit morose  Because it's time for us to run errands For a while I'm left wondering  If in downtown we were to dwell  Would she be as doleful as she is now  Once the clock struck aubade? Or would her doting nature  Vanish with the morning haze?  In a jiffy my thoughts are shushed down  And that's exactly why I call her my Pumpkin But why is she busy contemplating  On what she must prepare for grub  When she knows I will be appeased  With just some cottage cheese, tofu and malt? The wind snatches her handmade tents I open my semi-closed eyelids questioning her mien Then again I grasp her natural foundation  While she finishes ruffling my hair She nods her head sideways saying she is amused  Oh! And all along I believed she was pure blank!  "By the way, Good Morrow Dear," Her wordy grape-like eyes slowly speak. You can catch me on Plain Jane

Somewhere in what we call a fortress Under the balmy skies and woven cardigans He nestles up merrily to my embrace With daydreams of a child, skipping about ferns His false, heavy breaths tickle my eardrums And simultaneously compete with our goldfinch To win my soft chuckles and flushing reflection However, I feel he has something to confide His right clenched fist Tells me his mind is forming dunes Out of a blooming rose Reducing our love to gerunds But even if he kept me on a broken swing In a deserted warehouse or a pumpkin shell My soul would always be ready to bow Bow down to him, just like a barricade His head-rest, my cross-legged posture Then guides him through this vulnerable phase I would grab the hems of my worn-out gown And fling all those question marks towards a bin Now I shall carry on fixing A somewhat banquet in our castle's hub And in the process of my being teased A deep serenade comes to a halt Glistening dewdrops wet our hung-out garments The ultimate incandescence also hits our screen Brightening up our mere accommodation Though just his view, can beat its flair He tilts his front as if I were bemused When actually, I hadn't fallen prey to his prank "Well, Good Morrow Reindeer," He swiftly responds, with a lopsided cheek.