(Image source: bovinedawn.com)
Jewelled dewdrops, the night beckons,
the smile lingers on, the blood has thickened
Naked, lissome, time stops
Languorous sometimes, ofttimes hurried,
tastes savoured, for the first time and last
Stirred now, time moves, hearts pound, blood rushes in cold places
The stirrings return. The pious eagle swoops down
across the crevasses of skin,
ponders the heaven below and the hell within, and smiles
A stranger to the night, but strangely at home,
the eagle flies where the wind takes him.
Tonight, is the night of free will - though dark, 'tis pure.
Dawn creaks, the lady speaks, she calls out his name
The eagle fakes, his heart breaks,
and he bursts into flame.
She watches as he burns, dawn to dusk turns.
Some silvern ash on her body, and some in the urn,
it's time to return.
Jewelled dewdrops once more,
the night beckons again.
His new heart must come by, to have his thirst quenched.
His feathers singed from lust, and yet he knows
he must return from the sprinkled dust
onto her call....
She arches her back, she calls out to him,
she unclasps his whim,
and waits for his fall.
And so the cycle turns, and they a myth become.
By night, when blazes the fire, the villagers sing of the lady's ire, and say,
no matter how high may eagles fly, passion burneth and brings down
Fables spread, the tales grew, the bard singeth their praise
lovers cry, beneath their skies
and kings doth hold their gaze
And night after night, in passionate flight,
the eagle's love soars, in her skin he cries,
in her limbs he lies and in her dreams he roars
(Co-written with @bangdu)