By Rusalka


By  Rusalka

This page contains both a sestina and a Petrarchan sonnet.


Drawn by the heated promise in your eyes,
I melt into the strength of your embrace,
Enclosed, entrapped, encircled by your arms.
I feel my legs go weak as your dark kiss
Runs coursing through my veins like liquid fire,
Igniting new-found passion in my blood.

I know your nature thrives on death and blood.
I know you see the world through darker eyes
Than mine.  I know inside you there's a fire
That draws me, like a moth, to your embrace.
But I'm content to burn beneath your kiss,
To sear my soul to ashes in your arms.

Dizzied, I press my hands against your arms
And bite my lip until my teeth draw blood
So you can taste it every time we kiss.
I see the wild arousal in your eyes,
I feel you growing hard as we embrace,
As passion calls to passion, fire to fire.

Will you consume me with your hungry fire?
How easily you lift me in your arms
To carry me to bed!  Will your embrace
Forever be a poison in my blood?
How can I trust this softness in your eyes?
What mortal can survive a dark god's kiss?

But--ahh, I must have more than just a kiss
To quench this raging, all-consuming fire!
You know it, you can see it in my eyes.
Your body covers mine, and in my arms,
You're not the God of War, but flesh and blood,
Joining with me in passionate embrace.

The world may fall to dust while we embrace,
What do I care, when every touch and kiss
Sets off a fresh explosion in my blood?
Enough!  I have surrendered to your fire.
And as my body shudders in your arms,
I see the spark of triumph in your eyes.

I close my eyes, and claim a final kiss,
One last embrace before you vanish into fire,
To take up arms again, spiller of blood.


When order flees and chaos takes the field,
Awakened by the iron scent of blood,
The shadow of an older, darker god
Rises from places where it lay concealed.
When reason and civilization yield
And pride bows down before the crimson flood;
When honor kneels, defeated, in the mud
And faith no longer functions as a shield,
And yet the arm finds strength to lift the sword,
The spirit finds the will to strike the blow --
A final prayer is whispered, and is heard.
Then, taking courage as its own reward,
the heart and soul admit what they both know
And rise to greet their true and rightful Lord.