[Authoress’s Notes:

[Ahh, Beltane.  Such my favourite holiday.  And in its honour, you get a Beltane poem from me.  A little on the long side, but I’m quite happy with it.  It’s in the same style as my “Pillow Talk” and “Element of Fate,” and involves the same people as in those poems and in “When here and now cease to matter,” last year’s Beltane poem. 

[Dedicated, with all my soul.

[Hope you enjoy.]

~~*~~

“The storm, the storm of a kiss.”

– Theodore Roethke

~~*~~

She tugs on his hand

                    Though the fires are still blazing

And dancers continue to frolic

                    Around the pole, streaming white

And red.

                    He arches an eyebrow, unable

To mistake her meaning,

                    Vivid-clear on this night of any,

With fire-heat flickering in her eyes

                    And golden desire in his own.

-Love, we-

                    He sinks a hand in her sun-tresses

And she quiets immediately,

                    Turning her cheek against his arm.

Drumbeats in the distance,

                    Or are they so far away?

For all the attention the lovers pay,

                    They could be in another Realm,

Sounding their timeless rhythm

                    For more heedful couples.

Before she can react, she is

                    In his arms, powerful and passionate,

Hauled to her feet

                    And off again as quickly,

The bare soles lifted from lush grass,

                    Left to dangle in summer’s air,

Sticky now with humidity

                    And the scent of the season.

She is tall and strongly built,

                    But no great burden to his force,

Intensified now by full moon’s blood

                    And the siren-cry of howling wolves

Echoing in from the wilderness.

                    He carries her, not to their usual

Residence, the mundane room

                    Encapsulating their existences,

But rather to a special chamber,

                    Sacred for them

From this night forth,

                    Where a no-longer-lonely fire blazes

And music muted plays,

                    Weaving a dance just for them,

For this moment,

                    This night of passion and beauty.

-Honeysuckle.  But where…?-

                    -Stolen.-

-Rogue.-

                    -Their nectar can’t compare to yours.-

The pipes and flutes are faded here,

                    But the percussion rocks the castle through,

Moving all with its inexorable,

                    Eternal beat.

Her feet move fast,

                    Steadier on stone floor than dew-blades,

Following steps remembered from

                    Another lifetime, another holiday,

And where she twirls,

                    He follows.

It is like la volta,

                    Or perhaps a waltz,

And yet neither.

                    It is their own.

Sweet, subtle, and complicated,

                    And secret; steps designed

For their bodies alone.

                    Outside, thunder crashes,

And she laughs.

                    -Is your Mother angry, or does she approve?-

Her head falls back, spilling gold feathers

                    As he exalts her to the Heavens.

-I don’t care!  I am too happy…-

                    -Too loved.-

-To care what She makes of this night.-

                    He guides her back to earth,

Sliding her body against his

                    And capturing her against him,

Deft fingers at her ribs.

                    -Another dance?-

She shivers at the husky tone, thrilling

                    To his thirst.

-One better known?-

                    -Oh yes.-

In the next instant, she is crushed

                    To him, ardor seizing both

In its sensuous grip.

                    His kiss breaks over her like waves

Meeting eager shore,

                    And the celebrate the night,

The sun-fire feast,

                    The holiday most beloved by those

With Spirit in their souls

                    And pyres in their hearts.

-We were meant for this-

                    When all is done, and the embers

Burn smoldering red

                    In dawn’s faint light,

She speaks in lust-hushed tones,

                    His hand ambling over her curves.

-If meant for nothing else-

                    -Were we?-

-Perhaps not.  Perhaps this-

                    -Is all we can expect from ourselves-

-And all we should.-

                    -I would not be unpleased if this-

-This passion-

                    -Heat-

-And love.-

                    -Of course.  Love.-

-If that?-

                    -Was all we had, all we could count on.-

-Can we know anything else for true?-

                    -I was made for you.-

-So maybe it is all.-

                    -It is enough.-

Another kiss,

                    Another fond, murmured conversation,

More stolen moments before

                    The harsh light of day overtakes

The night and all its flickering

                    Glory, its private fame.

Lips press tenderly above

                    His heart: a silent but sincere blessing.

-Fire Couple.-

                    -That’s us.-

-A pair of rogues matched for eternity-

                    -And eternally matched well.-

-All there is.-

                    -And all I want.-

~~*~~