Said the Satyr

Allow me to pour more wine.
Oh, wait.
It seems we have lost the cup.
It must be here,
somewhere,
covered by the tattered remnants
of yesterday’s clothes,
trampled underfoot.

Never mind.
Tilt your head back.
Tween those stained lips,
I will pour in
and pour out
until you overflow.
I will catch the deep hued rivulets
snaking down sweat-sweetened skin
and kiss
and drink
deep of your quivering ecstasy.

Oh! The wine has spilled over us
as we have spilled
over each other.
Let us waste not one
drop of flesh.
Instead we shall help drive
trembling maenads
into the embrace of ivy crowned madness.

Lean back against me and catch your breath.
You’ll need it again later.
For now, relax a while.
I shall pour into your nuzzled ears,
sweet words,
vulgar words,
and cantrips to spur you
once again.

Listen! Hear the roaring Bull!
Another had heard the labyrinth’s echoes.
She stood at the entrance
long enough
to find she was already deep within.
“You beautiful youth of ageless passion.
Would the satyrs trample me underfoot
e’en as the maenads rend me to pieces.”
I see she has become
the lost wine cup.
Or has the emptied cup, become her?

Your eyes brighten.
You recognize of whom I speak?
No, not yet.
Allow me to shift my hand
and remind you of her wisdom
that she reflected from you.
What wisdom?
“Satyrs are never satisfied.”, of course.
Now, come closer.
I’m not done with you.

(for ginandjack)