The Ill-Made Knight
I laid my head in my lady's garden
-for thought and deed I crave no pardon-
I parted the petals of her flower
released her bouquet - sweet, not sour.
I conjured Venus from her shell,
explored the folds and found her jewel.
My fingers felt the magic power,
transmuted minutes to her golden hour.
We lie together in my lady's chamber,
the deeds I wrought they cannot shame her:
for we pretend the world is ours,
in the silver time after golden hours.