Shackles gold there she wore,
Abiding mark from fetters torn
As freedom won for passion's core
Compels a dream of loves reborn
To misted moon by hunting horn
Soft sound the cry all sisters form
Balms willing pain of virgins torn
By thrust of lover quick and warm.
Beguile she now dreamt hunter's heart
His hunger fanned from coals to flames
Full lights the forge of carnal art
Love's secret smith eternal claims
That pride melt down to mold the part
Of lover's shackled heart to heart.
Ha! I see that you have taken my wish that we begin to speak openly of the heart of sexual love, and run with it. :)
ReplyDeleteStylistically, this reminds me of Tolkien--if Tolkien had ever ventured into the erotic, which he very seldom did. (There's that lovely stanza in JRRT's translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight--"For she, queenly and peerless, pressed him so closely,/led him so near the line, that at length he must needs/either refuse her with offense or her favors there take"--but not much else in the published works I've read. Even Faramir and Eowyn only exchanged a few chaste kisses.)
More in the works ;-)
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