Achilles and Briseis
The young widow,
Lovely and dazed,
Awoke to her pale body naked,
And her face in a murder's chest.
Last night's events came rushing back to her,
Like water repeatedly reaching the coast,
Whirling and roaring in her head,
Like a stormy sea hitting a cliff.
The young widow,
Usually so elegant and refined,
Was greatly troubled by her past self,
Clumsily tried to untangle herself from the fur covered pallet,
And from the murderer.
And though she could escape the bed,
She could not run from her thoughts,
Still pounding at her head,
Demanding to be thought of,
Demanding to be regretted,
Demanding to be lusted after:
The feeling of the rough, and dangerous hands of the murder on her fragile, naked body,
His alluring scent completely filling her nose,
Her moans of passion,
His murmurs of affection,
filling the humid air.
She hadn't even tried to stop him,
She had wanted him.
But, the young widow knew it was wrong,
She felt the pangs of guilt,
And self-disgust.
This man was a murderer.
He had killed so many people,
So many people she had loved.
He could do no good.
"Little Bird,"
A velvety, deep voice stopped the young widow from making her final move out of the bed,
"Lovely, little bird, where are you going?"
The young widow whirled around,
Facing the murderer,
Facing her lover,
Who was calling her, addressing her by his adoring name for her.
Towering and golden,
Lean and herculean,
Handsome and powerful,
It was no surprise so many people found the murderer frightening.
The young widow ,too,
Had once been frightened by the golden warrior,
His dark eyes had been a little too hard,
His presence too overwhelming,
His muscular body dwarfed hers,
Blood was what he appeared to lust for.
Until, it seemed, he had seen her.
She had been given to the golden warrior,
As a prize,
As if she was an animal.
And she expected to be treated that way,
Until his eyes had met hers,
She had seen a softening in his features,
A strange look in his eye.
And when the golden warrior,
Reached over the fur covered pallet,
And gently stroked her milky cheek,
She knew she wasn't frightened of him,
But what she felt for him.
"Little bird,"
The golden murderer spoke again,
Bringing her out of her deep thoughts,
"Little bird, don't leave. Please come back to bed."
And despite the self-loathing,
And guilt,
The young widow couldn't help herself.
Love blinds the senses,
Confuses right judgment.
She could not help leaning into his touch,
Yearning for his embrace,
Craving his lust,
Craving his love.
And despite her best intentions,
The young widow crawled back into bed with the towering, golden warrior,
She crawled back into bed with her lover,
She crawled back into bed with a murderer.