A Promise Of Bed

Unblemished legs so soft and milky white
Cross with the grace of a falcon in flight,
And as the kestrel hovers, so does she,
A hunting hawk, and tantalisingly
She whispers: Come to me, o come to me.

She leads you to her room, she is a bird,
Her song is sweeter than you’ve ever heard,
Her plumage is unruffled, bright and fine,
Would that her wings about your legs entwine
And you fly with this carinate divine.

Between fresh linen sheets together rolled
As one, your passions have with her extolled
The gifts of Venus, only in your mind,
This bird will not be yours, for fate unkind
Has made her to your substance deaf and blind.

Who is she calling for if not for you?
Who is she tempting that she may subdue?
Why do you misintepret everything?
The song is hers, but not for you she sings.
Inside your puzzled head, a warning rings.

A lady in her every thought and deed,
She is oblivious to lust and greed,
Good manners and politeness you misread
As a come-on, a subtle invitation,
But stay your hand, t’is just imagination.

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