Friday, August 14, 2015

Jennifer Sage writes

In the folds of your arms the whole of the world can disappear
 and I hear nothing but our love in heated moans and nails scraping
 eager flesh, 
 
Near Valhalla is the place where your tongue makes love to mine,
 stroking with the scandalous promises of pleasures yet to come,
 and oh are they delivered.. 
 
Not even divine intervention could cause a delay as you play with
 my swollen, sweet  lips..making art with love too beautiful for
 words... 
 
This union as yet undefined, which seems sanctified by every order
 of the universal energies...plays on every inch of my craving soul. 
 
 
And so I succumb to it, completely and irrevocably.... 
 
For now. 
 

3 comments:

  1. "Near Valhalla is the place where your tongue makes love to mine." In Old Norse, Valhöll was the "hall of the slain," an enormous, majestic place fronted by a golden tree and its ceiling thatched with golden shields. Its earliest extant reference is in the anonymous 10th century poem "Fagrskinna" (as translated by Alison Finlay), in which the ruler of the gods Odin ordered
    valkyries rise up,
    to strew the bench,
    and scour the beakers,

    wine to carry,
    as for a king's coming,
    here to me I expect
    heroes' coming from the world,
    certain great ones,
    so glad is my heart.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Beautifully written
    Lovely word imagery

    ReplyDelete

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