All quiet in gentle slumber lies she, dream wrap’t, serene;
Gossamer veil shyly caressing breast and nipple;
As her very breath brings sweet disorder,
To hair now coyly playful, woken from its rest.
She sleeps on heedless, so it seems, but then,
Heedless of her mood, demanding nipples wake,
As to touch of silk; hardening they rise and breasts,
Gently swell in harmony with a murmured sigh.
She stirs, her movement wakes the night,
Where bardic lover drifts in reverie;
Conjuring softest melodies to wake the soul
Of those who long to hear his magic lay.
On strands of starlight glow he travels,
Seeking, ever seeking, that which desire,
Tells him awaits, where night’s velvet folds
Meet dream-conjured shore.
And there she lies, where phosphorescent sea,
Meets white crystal sand, and gently, gently
Lap the wavelets; where all is quiet, save for
The whispered longing of her heart.
Sly now, the bard motions with his fingers,
Plucking magic’s tune from scented air;
Notes of purest light around her ankles bind her;
Her breathing quickens, lips part in silent sigh.
And still with magic would he bind her,
Calves, thighs, the notes more urgent now;
The melody ensnares her sleeping senses,
And rapture now begins her siren song.
Like butterflies, the bardic fingers fly and flicker,
Swift at first, now slow, a stately minuet,
He conjures, around her navel dancing,
The light fantastic, as hips unbidden move.
And now, now the music quickens, fingers
Drawing rhythm from breast and belly;
The adored one stirs, lips parting,
As the wavelets of her dreams begin to rise.
More urgent now, they lap the shoreline,
Rising and falling with the tune,
Cadence, chorus, cadence, rising, falling,
Fingers soft as moonlight pluck at her soul.
Emboldened, bardic fingers pluck bravely now,
On Ishtar’s yielding hill a merry tune he plays;
Stroking, teasing, rhythm ever faster,
Waves louder now, rising to the moon.
With gentle strokes her cunny thus he teases,
To tempt the Goddess from her curtained bower;
He smiles, she moans, the Goddess quickens,
Yearning for touch of finger, for lover’s breath.
And now he draws aside the curtain, the Goddess,
Swollen now with longing, begs for his tongue,
Or any sort of worship – legs strive to part,
But bardic bonds bind fast, the sea rises.
Then, then, sweet rapture as fingertips,
Hard and smooth from tunes upon the strings,
Of lyre and lover pluck and stroke,
The Goddess from her sanctuary to entice.
The waves now sound a paean of triumph,
Victory in sight for bardic skill;
But look, the starlit bonds are broken,
Legs part, hips rise, breath quickens.
Breakers now, where once wavelets lapped,
Breath harsher as the bardic draws,
His swollen baton softly o’er her eyelids,
As fingers hold the swollen Goddess in their thrall.
And then, then, the sleeper wakes, thrusting
Hard with hands at lover’s chest;
She mounts him biting, kissing, moaning,
The Goddess must be appeased.
Crashing waves now would smother,
The sounds of her ecstatic release;
Her muted scream as bardic lover offers,
The sacrifice to Ishtar’s handmaiden.
Wet now her cunny, soft again her breasts;
The bard moans, and smiles; lips part,
As in supplication he offers a tender kiss,To Ishtar in her sacred bower.