The Swordsman's Lover Poem by Heather Milks

He comes to me in the darkness of the night.
Body pulsating, from battles afar and battles within,
touches me in ways only a warrior can.
His flesh hot and wet,
dripping of passion and fury all in one savage body.
He is a beast and a god,
a stranger and yet my master too.
His eyes, blue and filled with vengance,
peirce my soul like his blade to a foe.

And in one swift sweeping move I am in his arms.
Those that yeild a blade now grasping on to me.
As he leans in to me his body is tight and rigid,
his lips sweet with blood from the wounds of the day,
precise and demanding as they dive into mine.
The metalic taste swirling on my tongue and his together.
The candle light dances on his shoulders
as my back arches in exstacy
with each powerful thrust he drives into me.

His rough hands around my neck,
a contradicting grasp.
Any second he could easily pull tightly and forever hold my breath,
but for now they serve as a testament
to the pleasure flowing throuh him.
I am compleatly taken, my body, my spirit, my conscience,
all belonging to him.

The sword against the wall flashes
the reflection of two bodies now one.
Ever present is the blade whilest my love is alive.
He reaches for it and lays it upon me.
Silently staking claim to this body that is naked before him.
Knowing that one false move would be my last,
I lean into it. Welcoming the pain of the slightest cut.
Only pain could ever match this feeling
now spilling over me into my lungs and out of my mouth
like a wild animal screaming into the moon.

Who knows how long the sensual quickening has lasted.
My body taken to its furthest limits of enjoyment.
To the edge of inhibition only to cross it willingly.
Forsaking the roles of man and woman
and accepting the pure spirit of the beasts we are.

As the sunlight begins to join us our bodies lie still.
He lays in my arms. I wonder will he sleep?