Fit for battle, lacking only foe and fitting standard
We coupled, war-dressed, in armour, like Vandals.
Our clanging visors; our sandwiched hands of iron undivided
She moved with the inevitability of karma toward a smile
Determined to curb it all a while.
Between curtain wall and bed curtains, the stairs curved.
Bumping gorgets
Sword-lording corsets
An ironclad gorgeous
Cuisses guarded her thighs, barded horseheads were like
A pleasing din it made
When the warrior and his maiden lay
Like two juiceful peach tins fucking three rooms away.
Pots and pans clanking at a poltergeist’s instruction.
My heart’s rank’s unbreakable lines she flanked.
Alchemisland 
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