Pounding and grinding, Toiling and bending, The steel bends to the hammer's blows, Something attempted, something made, my life laid bare upon the anvil of life, Forged in the fires of loss, and quenched in the waters of fear. I am how I was Forged, sharp and strong, yet with the loss I am facing, I feel dull and weak.
Mold me a helm of platinum. Plate my neck in ornate roses and arc both ******* in tongues of steel. Spill an hourglass of silver sheets to silhouette each torso curve. Sculpt iron vines over each hip. Caress my keep in chastened press; form gold like liquid down my legs.
Engrave a crest of two joined doves upon my hexagonal shield. String leather sheathes with your golden hair. Equip a morning star with spires that mock the dullness at your rest, yet forge my sword of diamond strength formidable as your excited state.
Look on me where I stand armored. Embrace away my fancied suit.
Please… lay me down, Love, gently Love, and place a flower in my hair.