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.
"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
ReplyDeletevalkyries 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.
Beautifully written
ReplyDeleteLovely word imagery
Thank you :))
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