Poetry

This is from a current story in the works, about a man and his Noble lover:

Silken whispers of thine words;
embolden hearts with thoughts unsaid.
Upon such sweetened lips, mine kiss,
mine hands, mine touch would part,
to bring seed to these wants, to this form.
flowing, such rich tapestry of words upon your skin,
touching upon those shadows of love's deeper sin.
Could I sin, to be that shadow on your flesh,
to be that hand upon your brow, to be those lips upon your lids.
hearing, such moans of lovers movement, gleaming
in the moonlight, upon rounded limbs of sinners own.
What could I do, to make you see these things,
within mine eyes, within mine soul that your gaze has touched.
agony, to see thine love wilt in these shadows,
to see your hands on silken flesh not mine own!
Such agony, for this love does cleave deep,
penetrating those other senses,
addicting as touch itself, as kiss itself would be.
In betrayal, would you turn against me,
let lovers kiss wilt, like those roses torn upon their thorns.
unbridled lust gives into this aching want,
to see you, to need you, to forget those words,
truth spoken in unkind, anchored in thine vengefull rage.
Oh but if that was passion still for me,
against me, in me, lovers embrace that could not be ripped!
Truelly I would be such boastful swain!