Monday, August 29, 2005

She said I should

While hidden away in our mountain chalet,
m'lady suggested (sic) that I write something
salacious. I have written a couple of things
before that I considered erotic -- but I sensed
she wished someting a bit more ...

So please accept that any interpretations
you place upon these words are entirely
your own. I would never have posted this,
(along with dozens of others), but she insists.


The balcony was shaped like an open hand,
fixed firm to the castle wall,
her only view of friendly trees -- the forests of Danuur.

Her rooms were grand, of course, with drapes of gossamer silk;
where stain-glass stories glimmered,
portents of her future life -- as young bride of Baron Klee.

By right of birth and claim of kings and practiced will
she embraced this fate set sure,
but her soul flew out from the Hand -- into the mists of dawn.

‘Twas thought it gave her some magical sense of freedom,
to know she could leap and fall
to hungry stones and churning sea if she chose eternity.

But they knew not of the falcon, wizard of the breeze,
who appeared each sliver moon,
and took her to vales of velvet moss -- kissed by laughing dew.

She would stand tiptoe on forbidding parapets,
with veils drifting from her neck,
with nothing between flesh and stone but mound of tawny hair.

Her breasts hung firm as ripened fruit, berries on the vine;
awaiting the feather touch
and whispers of promise -- caressed by currents of love.

He arrived in hush like a rustle of ancient leaves,
a flick’ring of candle flame;
to stand behind her quivering form -- his knees against her thighs.

Soft down breathed on her back while talons pricked her skin;
her fingers tracing faerie steps
from dimpled knees to pulsing throat -- and myst’ries in between.

Legs spread wide in wonder, her hips ‘gainst jutting stone,
with nothing ‘tween her maiden song
that than the laughing breeze and throbbing tune of ever-need.

He entered her then as must be, gentle as a dream,
and filled her hopes to brimming,
with unfolding petals and dawn-light bursting on the hill.

His arms crossed around to cup her willing pride,
while toes entwined with glee;
and mighty wings of freedom’s call took her far from prison walls.

For they might enchain her vibrant youth and beauty,
and enslave her space and dance;
but love was hers to give or hold -- or fly to everbeen.


At 5:14 AM, Blogger Imogen Crest said...

Clearly this is inspired and a tale of love and freedom is always welcome on the Hermitage walls...


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