maid of orleans, says michael, watching her burn

by Allister Nelson

Swords rust with blood, but the sheath renews

my girl is a knight of twelve blades, red blue.

My girl screams ruin and wonder, my lady shines

like rain, she rides into battle on honor divine.

So heavenly, the way she plucks my pinions and bites

my lips, sashays her hips in a way belying her might.

She is a dancer, a moon maiden wanderer, sailing

on ballerina toes to the safe harbor of my wings.

I bleed only for her glory, scream her name as night

leaves me barren in the wake of her ghost, no light.

No light at all but a promise, and I am her selfish knight.