The Poets:
Chapter Four
Leah adjusted the pillows behind my head propping me up. Our twenty years together had done little to diminish her beauty. She still took my breath away. She was healthy in her middle age, while I could barely rise from my bed. I was attached to an oxygen tube that kept me breathing. She leaned down and kissed my lips.
One eye still drooped slightly and she smiled with a crooked smile, a lasting remnant of that horrific accident long ago. I thought it made her look all the more interesting, and I am not ashamed to say sexier. It certainly didn't diminish her beauty.
"I love you," I said. It was barely audible and more like mouthing the words. She smiled and brushed the hair across my forehead.
"I love you, my darling," she replied. "Are you ready?" I winked at her.
She stepped to the end of the bed, placed her hand on her chest and cleared her throat. She rocked up on her toes once and giggled before starting. Her face became serious and she began to speak in a deep, clear voice.
The old king sat on his throne,And gazed at the warrior before him;
She was clad in leather,
With bracelets of gold.
Her flaming red hair streaked with grey.
Leah flipped her hair with one hand.
"Leah my warrior consort,"
"Once again you must leave my bed."
Leah began to strut back and forth as she spoke.
"The forces of darkness are poised on our border
With blood lust aflame in their heads."
She swept her hands through the air.
"Ride out with your purity,
Ride out with your sword,
Lead our armies to meet the foe."
She clutched her hands as if in prayer.
"But come back my Leah,
Come back to my bed;
God forbid that my feet might get cold."
She doubled up laughing. I laughed and began coughing. She started to come next to the bed, but I held my hand up and waved it around signifying she should continue.
Leah had written this poem as an anniversary present, and I desperately needed her to finish. She looked at me with concern, and then regained her performance face and started in again.
She made the motion of drawing a sword from its scabbard.
She drew her broad sword,
As long as her leg,
And saluted her lover and king;
She bowed so low,
Her breasts did show,
And the king's stately member stirred.
She stifled a giggle. As sick as I was, my member did start to stir.
"I will crush the enemy!"
She said in repose,
Letting the king feasts his eyes.
"And when I return," the warrior vowed,
"The king and his consort
Will melt in the heat
That burns between both of our thighs.
Leah's attention had focused on the tent forming under the sheet as my kingly member continued to rise. She stopped reciting her poem and walked to the side of the bed.
"Are you okay, my love," she touched the top of the tent and then wrapped her hand around it. Her face held a serious expression of concern.
"Ooooo, you are swollen and feverish. Should I call an ambulance?" I tried to laugh without coughing and slapped her hand away.
"Continue, angel," I whispered through my ragged breath. She gave it a gentle squeeze, leaned down and kissed the head of my erect penis throbbing under the sheet.
She adorned herself in war paint,
And banners of her lord and love;
With broad sword, dagger and chain mail
She called on the power of the dove;
Honor through service,
Peace through strength
Let us crush or enemy this day;
Leah beat her chest and made a ferocious face marching around the foot of the bed.
And she led ten thousand
To the camp at the border
Where two armies would meet their fate.
She made the motion of pulling the broad sword.
A village was burning;
Our people had died;
Children sat crying in the dirt.
As the warrior consort
Rode her stallion steed,
She met a young boy in the woods.
