There was a time, once, when we were king and queen.
We sat upon decadent thrones, in robes of sumptuous cloth.
About your brow, so pale, so beautiful, a circlet of precious gold,
adorned with rubies, bright and polished to an iridescent perfection.
You'd wear a full smile, with those voluptous, enticing lips.
Many a man covets you, my queen.
The sleek, cascading, flowing locks of your hair, shimmer gently
in the generous torchlight, as your eyes sparkle with your smile.
Finest filigree adorns the cloth that entraps your bosom,
your gentle, steading breathing, rhythmic rise and fall of your wrapped breasts.
You're beautiful, my dear, sat daintily atop your throne,
even bedecked in items of decadence, your natural beauty shines through.
You could be robed in rags and your beauty would be unsurpassed.
Cut to the night, when the toches are doused and the silence of the darkness descends,
here we lay, entwined in the night.
Softness upon softness,
skin wearing skin.
Your breath being eagerly swallowed by me,
your breathing, becoming my breathing.
-(And for a moment, if you stopped breathing,
my world would end.)-
The sounds of life are silenced,
because all I'm listening to is the beat of your heart,
watching your breasts rise and fall in the moonlight.
Your slow smile, dark lips silhoetted against pale skin,
the trace of fingertips across my cheek and a firm kiss upon my mouth.
"I bid thee goodnight, my queen."