My Muse had a Stroke

MY MUSE HAD A STROKE JAK KIRWIN

At the precipice of pleasure Where no longer plagued by doubt The livid voice inside you Becomes a leery lout And in that blinding white Even war is muted By the holy force of Love Intoxicated by the light Dead, spread eagle With wings scorched by the blight Sleeps my good snow dove Still, eager to take flight She conquers, fears not, Evil, With softness, tramples might