PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Now that the battle is over, and the foe routed

(thorns in your site at least temporarily halted), the

young page, your companion, leans against the

ancient wall of the abandoned structure.  He has

tossed off his cap to release cascades of auburn curls

(too feminine, another, more brutal and most uncouth

knight declared, until you loosened some teeth in his

mouth); and these spill over his bare shoulders now that

his shirt has fallen away.  When he kicks off his boots and

then removes his stockings, you see that his tights are

footless---his feet bare, like his torso above the waist.

His eyes' profound gaze reveal the need to love and be

loved according to his soul's nature; not this fiefdom's

rather prejudiced and rather old-fashioned rules.  But

you have often welcomed him to choose this style of what

some might call "undress."  Clad exactly like this he has

often enjoyed your affection and the largesse of your home

(although some who are now respectfully silent once

raised the question of propriety to you):  he has frolicked in

your extensive rose garden, has played board games with you in

front of hearth's crackling, glowing fire; and slipped,

entirely naked, into your bed.  Two and a half time his age,

you have taught him the skilled intimacies of erotic love;

but in his juvenescent embrace, age differences no longer

matter; no differences can every again matter; and you do not

permit even the oldest of your retainers to treat him as

"different."  He will become a Poet in the years to come;

he will declare your honor in elegies, and your gentle

kindness in the most exquisite of uninhibited love poems.

Starward