Sylphid Song

[elsibethann]

o Air am I of fire wynde.

As now bedawn another day,
  so long aforrow pass to fay.

Beneath the mists of morrowtide,
all russet-mantled, silver-eyed
  and rosy-finger'd, incense-breth'd,
  lo, come my lover to his death.

He draw aside the dewy shrouds
and loll aby the rising clouds,
  receive my hands, who love to sing
  and coo above the gift he bring.
They softly gliss his secret places,
lightly kissing lips to faces;
  tongues entwine and lick and linger,
  holding hands and palms and fingers ..

Overwhelm'd by his insistence,
I relinquish all resistance,
  yielding at his hands behest
  to clasp about my brazen breast
and fan my fires in swirling ripples
as he nibble at my nipples.
  Gasping little wimper cries,
  I feel his touch between my thighs,
and when the shadow take the twelve,
ah then he give me all himself
  and lay me open open wide
  and gently press so deep inside.

I grasp him in in loving squeezes,
plunging me in pleasure pleases.
  Harden'd muscles, arms and shoulders
  stoking strokes of smoking smolders,
lightning love in flames of lust
and squeezing tighter ev'ry thrust
  till living in my lover's eye
  I kill him now!
                     .. and now he die.

As mists encloud the eventide,
my lover look so sorrow-eyed;
  so I insume his cooling corse
  and smile, feeling no remorse.

For so the forrow pass to fay,
and now bedawn another day.

o I am of the kindle kind.



love,
Elsie

in my tree