August , 1995
For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes, brightly expressive as the twins of Leda . . . .
Since my love is peering over my shoulder, she may read the answer to her question. Leda was the wife of King Tyndareus of Sparta and the mother of two famous sets of twins—Helen of Troy and Clytemnestra, and the Gemini twins, Castor and Pollux. As to which set of twins Edgar Allan Poe was referring when he wrote the poem Valentine, I would think both.
Especially if he was drunk at the time.
Perhaps it is my own relaxed state which sets my mind to recalling poetry likely written in vino veritas. The wine consumed to keep Sirius company during the party earlier has emboldened me to attempt poetry of my own.
The nymph behind me, clothed in waist-length red hair, distracted me from my purpose earlier with her wiles. Even now, after passion has been spent, she presses her body to mine and breaths in my ear. Laughs, too, before attempting to rationalise her boldness. Nymphadora claims that she is innocently sitting in bed while I am the one leaning back against her. On the surface, that is true.
However, as I am being delightfully poked by certain points of her anatomy, I beg to differ. Innocence has nothing to do with it. Despite the way she giggles freely as a child, it is a woman who has enchanted me. A woman who shall, in the words of Poe, find her own sweet name, that nestling lies, upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
My love is asking questions again. I have to admit I do not know why the words were penned in that exact manner. Enwrapped, engrossed, is more commonly used with 'in.' Wrapped in thought, or rapt in wonder.
Slender limbs are giving a visual demonstration of wrapped around. A fine phrase, and handy as a shapely leg to prop my journal upon.
The feminine huff of indignation I hear makes me chuckle. I'm amused by the idea of Nymphadora meekly existing at anyone's convenience. Ouch. If my penmanship is shaky at this moment, it is because I am trying to write while being pinched. Of course I do not consider her an inconvenient woman. She suits me perfectly.
Kisses are even more detrimental than pinches to legible handwriting. I prefer them by far, though, and I am sorely tempted to abandon my poetic endeavor. Toss the journal aside and let kisses lead to other pleasurable activity.
I shall resist temptation and remain fixed upon my course. Nymphadora once wrote me a touching limerick on the back of a pub menu, and I have sworn to return the sentiment.
If I recall correctly, the pattern is AABBA, da Dum da da Dum da da Dum on three lines, and da Dum da da Dum on two. Simple.
My love is a girl Nymphadora
Whose curves outshine Greek amphora
To touch, smooth and fine
To taste, sparkling wine
To fill, is my iucundita
Yes, iucundita, pronounced "you-kun-di-ta", means pleasure in Latin, and I stressed the first and last syllables to fit the pattern. Since my darling splinched genius as the last stressed syllable in her own poem, she can hardly object to my literary license.
Nymphadora is breathing in my ear again, whispering how she plans to show her admiration once I put down this journal.
As I said before, we are perfectly suited.
.
.
A/N: I am not advising drinking to spur creativity and wasn't even hopped up on caffeine when I wrote this! My only goal was to entertain. The readers who suited me perfectly by reviewing the last chapter were…40/16 alix33 cupcakeswirl Dolphindreamer ElspethBates FNP Freja Lercke-Falkenborg ishandtwofourths ladyofthebookworms Lizet M Machiavelli Jr Miss GoodManners MollyCoddles Moonlight Nethiel Nessime potteronpotluvhim rillie RoxieLupin siriuslycoco Sophia Loren and Wake Up
Added note: This 'entry' corresponds to chapter 11 of Moonlight and Shadow.