Oh fly me to thy bed,
Princess of the light.
Do not wait upon thy conscience
But love me there as I would wont to love thee.

And how would that be?
Soft and silent as a petal to the touch?
Or hard and rough,
Like the careless storms of winter?

No, it would be as thou desireth
So long as I am in the partnership of it.
I would accept thy every whim,
So to lie with thee upon thy grace.

‘Tis God’s truth
That I love the very core of thee;
Each movement of the clock
Hath marked this state.

Does it too, set the beat of my heart
In perfect harmony with thine,
Or is it discordant calamity
That falleth upon mine ear?

No, that clamour is
Born of the dancing of angels,
In joy in laughter in celebration
Of my love
And thine.