if you were not a fool you would see me for what I am
you who sits so comfortably in the fine saddle of a fine mount
you who dares to ride out to war without paying me my due
you will worship me and die for me
for half the slain are mine and my ferocity will hound you
to the end of your viagra for sale days should you scorn me
and you will be human litter for my beautiful ravens
I am perfection and Brisingamen shines at my throat
see your imperfection reflected in my eyes
they are ice—my hands, fire
love me and you will never know the final silence
pour yourself out for me and die at my feet
I am the window to all that is woman
you the unsteady and frail creature
your soul made to smash against my rocky whims
oh but if you honour me and cry my name as you are cut down
you will not be abandoned and I will make your heart burst with joy
you will feel my hands on you and you will belong to me
Poem by Tess Grey
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