638. To Our Lust

Trev to Em. A little something for her pillow, penned while she was in the shower. Translated from the original Hynerian.


I lie in bed
my wooden head
a nail I see
sharp point to my forehead held

My wood is soft
fir or pine perhaps
the effort needed
not all that great
(the effort required
neither compass nor maps)

My head is still
still like death
brown I think
the hue of, not much left

Hold me baby
in your arms
hold me sweetness
within your lap

I feel your nails
upon my scalp
raking thoughts
like autumn leaves

Thoughts of deer
perhaps a doe
run through my mind
as water down a row

I feel your warmth
oven mitt safe
and dream of rivers
gushing over my face

I want to stand
where only the few
are given the privilege
to partake a screw

You will gladly bend
from hip to toe
as I prepare the rod
for slake and plough

Smile you will
of that I promise
for the sheath revealed
will do asunder

A tear perhaps
of joy and wonder
we will kiss
as stolen plunder

I shall take
what I deem to be mine
and you will give
me sweetest wine

Drink we will
to our lust
you and I, lover
forever must

Headache gone
and plans most tragic
by fingers divine
if not magic