A perfect poem

Precious in its language use and flamboyant
Earthy it grounds me to the fluffy fertile soils
Reeking pleasantly the airs of joy, I am spoilt
For every word is a hiss of moist,
Edging towards point where my heart is oil
Creeps in my juggling bones, a spiraling cold
To this wonderful piece, I am owned, I am sold

Priss to describe this joint,
Oke that mends my soul,
Ever be my toned
Mesmerizing wonderful milestone

Before my eyes snow was twinkling,
An ethereal view, raining
The peak of the mountain takes its white coat
As eagles gather above
I'm hypnotized, lost in my tracks
Falling into a neverending crack
Until eventually a bird start singing,
And my eyes slowly start blinking.

Bully me, yours truly
never ordained, gifted, or blessed
with mien mean characteristic
evoking, jump/kickstarting,
representing, nor zapping
friend or foe courtesy fiery intimidation
if anything aura, charisma, dogma, and karma
emanating, issuing, and oozing out
body electric of one heretofore bookish fellow
immediately facilitates characterization
hashtagged lucubration and manifestation of quietude.

Of all the creatures great and small
The one that I detest the very most,
The blood thirsty, damned mosquito,
I have no desire to be its dinner host.

The mosquito plays no favorites
It's most willing to drill and bite,
Everyone it darn well chooses,
There's no chance to wage a fight.

But fight I will with all I have
Be it sprays or creams or such,
I'll wear light colored clothing
But it doesn't help that much.

In a chaotic world, bright and loud,
Mr. Monkey always by my side.
Whilst my parents fought, coarse and harsh,
Holding my hand tight while I would hide.

Soft and worn, his fur was my shield,
In my dreams, he made me feel safe.
Even with chicken pox and itched pain,
Mr. Monkey remained close, all relief.

Years wondered by, and life changed be,
Mr. Monkey, forgotten, unseen.
Love bloomed once, then heartbreak arrived,
I balled hard, feeling lost and alone.

Self immolation as sacrificial bleating lamb
promises eternal martyrdom
awaiting voluntary die hard protester,
where countless vestal virgins provide blissfulness
(think Playboy mansion on steroids)
synonymous with delightful
grand view garden of Eden
transmuting mortal flesh
(clothed in lovely bones)
into burnt offering
mummifying and searing
once robust sacred heart
courtesy hungry, and angry forked flames.

Fury
Written by Kelly Ann Wilson

With a title deeply rooted
in subject matter iterated above
invariably makes for hair raising poem,
though I immediately attest said material
constitutes atypical topic
the writing process (with intent
to share bizarre pet peeve)
mildly cathartic to ameliorate
long established body dysmorphia,
(which lifelong aversion

what a time it was
front door deliveries please
and then I saw you
firstly, a crown for a queen
lastly, our very own world

It's in the quiet I hear you.
My lungs elastic as they draw you in
with each comforting breath.

The memories of the day
expand my peace of mind
and careen my heart into you,

as you slumber next to me,
here in the solitude of our night.