Sunday, 12 November 2017



Sleep, Sire…I am a pillow

for you,

satin sheets,


and smooth as waters,

undisturbed by the breeze,

yet wild

of heart, like a nightingale, released from her bonds,


all spread,

sleep, great king, my body

is a bed, for you,

and it longs

for your weight; pushing, swaying,

to undulate,

battles and campaigns are for

day-break, for when we have sun,

not these stars;


let my fingers caress your scars and ease

the aches

in your bones,

my lips are a silken cloth,

draped in your lap,


and wholly exposed,

my hair, is gold cords,
at your hips,

my tongue a tender,

revering kiss, that brings its own

precious gift;

a great concerto that grows and lifts into heavenly,  

angel-song, the kind of worship that can never

be wrong;

in holy light,

I kneel

at your feet –


sleep, bold sir,

sleep, my hands in your hair, a crown,


lay your hunger

down and a feast I will set

for your pleasure,

no silver to count

nor payment to measure, close your eyes,

and fall into


sleep, as I pay homage;


I came only to serve you, tonight.



Come closer,
lock bodies, nay stay, and lock minds,
every inch of you hidden,
a part I must find in my searching,
a sacred treasure hunt,
arms of memory – dulcedo - a blanket
of trust; nay but trust,
was a long-hunted thing,
you caressed and blessed and slapped with a
sting, and a scratch,
a deep bleeding wound,
on which you held pressure
and nursed me through, pains
of healing, stopped me picking
the scab,
pinned down my hands and pulled me back
by my hair;
not vicious, but kind,
rough enough;
my best things
in mind, you whispered,
ex animo
as we lay,
in the dark, trusting presence,
like I trusted
the stars above us to stay, 
and the strings in between,
and you, not to injure,
where the scars had been, but protect,
whenever they showed;
in mea bellator, under covers,
now gloriously,

Creatures of the Night

Steal away in the dark, from their
watchful eyes, shining like cats' under the city lights,
lead me this way, in a wanton flight
of fancy
to a hidden place - anywhere they cannot 
look upon our faces 
and perchance may see,
the creatures of the night we escape 
to be,
entwined under beats
and strobes:

follow my breadcrumbs 
down a darkened road
then whip me back and forth
with well-deserved strokes, and sweet lashes, of my wicked 
catch me,
hold me,
as I writhe and shake,
bound pixie,
in this rhythmic heat,

I know you are starving, my  gentle beast,
whose teeth are a welcome 
whose tongue is 
a sparkling trove of treasure, laid, but tender, on me:

come chew through my bonds 
and set me free: I offer my throat; I am yours to eat - dine
until you're satisfied:
Red Riding Hood sees the wolf in your eyes,
and she wants him
under her spell...

Taste her and rock her, 'til her heart shall swell,
like an ocean 
enticed by the moon:
and come the Witching Hour, let her be howling too.