Consummation

CONSUMMATION She came again last night with love-lights sparkling in her ebon eyes and honey dripping from her lovely lips and visited my chamber in the night, I heard her come, I heard her footfall on my stair, I watched the door and saw her beauty standing there. How lovely to be loved and love to meld into her sacred fire, to know myself to be a moth to know the burning heat of this her flame, and in the darkness of my chamber in the night to leave my door ajar inviting her to enter in, to wait for her whilst drifting into sleepiness and dream, upon my bed of roses. Stirring now I know not what the cause nor why this moth she draws with ecstasies of fabulous desire into her flame of love, to be consumed, to burn, to die, and yet, to live for her alone upon my bed of roses. I’ve tasted sweet before but not like this this silver dew upon her breath, I’ve waited untold lives to savour this, this love sublime, the fire divine, I wonder if it was the dimple in my chin, or could it be the opening in my heart which she had made that drew her in upon my bed of roses. With eyes wide open blind to all I see but she in that sweet night I drowned again her deep eyes, always she comes with unrehearsed surprise and plants in me her precious seeded prize that love which never dies. When I recovered from the shock and I had taken stock ‘twas she who held the key which turned my unseen lock so she could enter me upon my bed of roses. And when I thought that she would leave at dawn she paused and drew me further in, into such depths I’ve never been, all this then done in love’s embrace we both were one, we both were gone, no one lies here to wet my pillow with pearlescent tears upon my bed of fading ruby roses. Tom.