poniedziałek, lutego 06, 2006

to memory of Pharaun Mizzrym - poem "la passion a la drow"

This poem was created on 06 february 2006 out of sheer
passion and sadness too, in memory of Pharaun Mizzrym,
the cutest wizard of The City of Menzoberranzan.
The drow city sucked out of mercy, love and needs reaching
beyond wanton cruelty.
Falling in love with "someone" means taking him with
all the past, present and future. As The War of The Spider Queen
is only a creation of fantasy I hope that future of our
Mizzrym will not be that hard for him.
I am quite sure of it. There is no other option, or, I am
not who I am [and I am].

Let yourself be distracted for a while, though foolish,
these verses may seem to some of you. These verses tell a short
/very short indeed/ tale of passionate love, meaning mainly
the physical one.

Never mind...it is the way I like to write also in Polish...never
mind....; I just cannot imagine Pharaun doing any
stupid "billing and cooing"; he was a drow, though, a charming one....

"La passion a la drow"

How did I find you? Why ask?
May it be the the gorgeous crimson,
may it be at whim or else;
Why then ask? I never cared to know -
never did you claim this knowledge to possess.

Under the sky of rock and basalt,
the darkest toys of the Underdark,
through your bulging blood,
boiling hot, jutting mad,
will I get, my dearest, what I crave best -
place I fear or not even dare to name,
caressing demons may be just a play,
no match for passion we are about to share.

Just leave your spells aside,
throw your robes and rings away;
spreading love is a risky game
and squandering precious moments now
gives me creeps all way down.

Like streams of no hope and no return,
will desire be in high tide and come,
with blood – the deadliest foe of all,
will I thump like wild against your chest,
stealing lovliest breath, looting lips for kiss,
in eternal orgy of defensless flesh,
groping skin for more, hushing fire with fire,
gushing more and more, till sweat and speed,
have no place to hide, and nowhere to flee;
feel the lava burning stormy in your veins -
seeing sparkling sight, and arms as black as night
of the world above, unconscious, lost for life,
breathless breath, sunk like trapped within mine.

There is no pleasure that compares to passion,
quite as fast as that squeeze and rush,
bursting out cries and pleas,
as momentum gathers, and suddenly strikes.

Whenever my senses stirr
and my motions blurr,
await thunder like judgment which comes,
and must fade away along with yours.

Guess my precious wizard then?-
Are there spells of stronger power?
May you like to play once more?
Or maybe reharse, just for joy?

Why did I do that? How to know, dearest?
There are things one makes for gain
and other just just for lust;
never try to find it out,
either answer might by fine enough,
or even not...

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