Beatrice

My knight,
don your armour for me.
Wear your heart,
on your silk sleeve.
Show me the pride,
that you’ve earned.

We will flourish,
blossom to the horizon,
of God,
and let Loki drop us,
from long fingers,
to seven circles below.

Let us dance on dark thrones,
shine love in blackness,
torture Hell’s finest.

Be my man,
remove the thorn
from the tiger’s paw,
So I may eat your heart.