Brandish me, hero of the night. Steal my breath with your celebrated kiss.
Stark against the beauty of the moon, staggering within her light she’s led you.
Have done your wandering eye, and curious mind which strays you from my path.
So transparent, your immortal veins too dim beside your heaven.
Would you have me, as any mortal woman? Gratified by your words of passion, there brought this flux upon me?
Taken by your strayed devotion, kept as I turned away from those fantastic songs I bedded. What has thine done, as long as you’ve been as you are, passing endless? A question that’s brought you, perhaps one so long without you, answered naught wherein your leave whilst in your den?
What shall I say to calm your racing heart, faster than I can bear for my own breast to match? How can I pace this furious start, and bring you to my mine own in love. And whence we may discover thus, shall I live?
Who would I be could I lay with thee, of standard love I’m conscious? Have I fooled a fool’s heart to hope, to believe I may be the one you desire, whom you’ll next embrace? Would I be willing to brand such passion as you yearn and I took notice, could I believe your seed would stay with me? Or cannot even men immortal swear their fidelity? Will I remain a maid forever more?
Would that I could, by some divine right keep it summer? Teaching leniency toward desire, marking need for want the same? However base I wish this living dream I could touch. Hovering over thine, and mine a trace of bliss hath kept, a secret which never ends. So for what do I keep my romanticisms, if not forward I become this wistful realm of tolerance. Between the Gods whom mortal men worship?
I am intolerably slayed for my damnation, this devil of a cause. Restriction’s summed my fate when in the crib, not so mortal as men to change the laws of their world. Women as such, irresponsible to feel but for its fancy, just a girl’s whim to bask in her nightly Eros, trimmed in perfection as only she could fathom. Who would ask after my heart, without leave of my womb come first? Not so many should, too forthwith we’ve bred and little grows our worth thereafter.
Hence I descend unto this sadness, knowingly responsible for my shame. What luxury could cause this, dressed in the finest and shared of her beauty everywhere the sun’s touched? Renown for such kindness, though I must not abuse so much subtlety when I hold my passions thus, whilst I’m covertly carried off by some princely youth. Left astride his saddle, stolen back to his castle to fall in-love.
I must not lament, not for my missing Zeus in my wake, or some dangerous Achilles better left within his heroic tales. I will not wrestle with my destiny so openly as I think them allowed here. Though I shall cry then for my lesser husband who holds these liberal times with woe, fearful of his control and my momentous riot. *Chuckles*, who could blame my birth, as society‘s blamed for not one but a thousand tears. Blessed be for my sweet sisters, and the long winded Teller of Tales. Or a thought would strike me dead, as bold as I might strain then to reach for the heavens I yearn, before I were to truly pass.
