The Galahad Rhyme

The day was all snowy, windy, and freezing;
The wind rattled the shutters like the big bad wolf wheezing.
But I was warm and cozy in my cabin-like hovel,
Wrapped in a blanket, absorbed in a novel.

Sir Galahad the Chaste, with eyes blue and blazing,
Was in love with a lass whose wit was amazing.
It made me long for a lover with eyes of blue,
Perhaps like the sky or a storm ocean hue.

I set my book on the table and to the window I went,
Staring at the snow in utter wonderment.
And perhaps a wee bit of boredom if the truth be told…
If my love life were bread, it’d be covered in mold.

And here I was, just made for the taking,
On a nothing day perfect but for hours lovemaking.
Merlin the goldfish swam in a ne’er ceasing loop,
Swimming about and around his underwater hoop.

And with a fishy glare, he sternly did say:
“Take care what you wish for on this strangest of days…”
And it’s then you realize you’re insane, it’s true,
When you believe what your fish are saying to you.

Then a knock to the door startled me to know
Who could be wandering about in this cold winter snow?
And when I opened the door, imagine my surprise,
To see Sir Galahad the Chaste with blazing blue eyes.

“Kick him out, kick him out!” I heard Merlin shout,
“He’s a wicked knight and I know what he’s about!
Why he’ll seduce you thoroughly in a thrice and a grin!”
Gee, now there was a reason for not letting him in.

To give Merlin credit, Galahad looked awful sure.
For being so chaste, he looked anything but pure.
But I could hardly tell such a handsome man to go
To face his chances in the ill-begotten snow.

So I bid him entrance with a flirtatious smile,
And he swaggered in with great knightly style.
And when he was warmed and content from the fire,
He flashed a grin to fulfill my every desire.

Then, Sir Galahad, with one sweep of his arm,
Cleared my kitchen table with barbaric-like charm,
And with a smirk to make me tremble to the tips of my feet,
Whispered, “Now, ‘tis time for some boudoir-ish sweets.”

And as we played ‘round the table running,
He gave a growl that was all too cunning;
Then he pinned me to the table flat
And purred in triumph like a cat.

And when I shivered delicious to my toes,
He laughed and tapped me on the nose,
Then flashed a smile, oh, so winning…
Said, “Come now, lass, let’s start to sinning.”

And his hands made quick haste to all my clothes,
Exchanging each article for a series of moans;
And when I was as naked as a Thanksgiving bird,
He looked romantically awed and whispered, “My word.”

Or “Oh God” or “What pretty breasts hast thee…”
I’m not certain what was said, but it was about me.
Then with two curious hands I traced down his blouse,
Delicate as a spider, quiet as a mouse.

Slow as molasses, I peeled away every line,
Undid every lace until he was mine.
I titillated, he teased, and we both did play
Like adult wicked children locked inside for the day.

Rolling about, we bounced from the table to the floor;
Then with a few realignments, we bounced some more.
Slick as two seals across the tile we did frolic,
Passionately drunk as two alcoholics.

And when we were through screwing around on the floor,
I staggered to my feet and leaned against the door.
“What a marvelous idea,” he cried, “my wench insatiable.
Why it’s even more cunning than flat on the table.”

Then before I could inquire what my knight had in mind,
He made it quite evident as he pressed up behind.
I’m a quack, I know, but I swear I could hear,
Merlin smugly saying, “I told you so, dear…”

Twice? you scoff, why next you’ll be saying
That you two were at it before a fire blazing.
Or perhaps a tub full of champagne bubbles?
A chandelier? Would that be too much trouble?

Alas, yes, I must confess the above is quite true.
Amazing stamina he’s got through and through.
Granted the chandelier number was a bit tricky to master,
But his experience saved us from absurd disaster.

And there before the flaming fire roaring,
Before I could settle in for some lady-like snoring,
He grinned, “Perhaps ‘tis time for a nap for me too—
But not before I show you thing one and thing two.”

“Seen ‘em, rode ‘em, and bought the T-shirt—“
I replied lazily with a bit of a smirk.
He tsked and pulled a pair of die from his jeans.
I blinked at them curiously as to what they could mean.

He flicked his wrist and the pink die rolled.
When I read what they wrote, I smiled, “I fold.”
“Sorry, sweets, ‘tis craps, not poker we play…”
“I beg to differ, mister, you’ve played ‘poker’ all day.”

He laughed and proceeded with his little game,
Nibbling in places I could hardly start to name.
His blue eyes were wicked; my wrists pinned with his hand—
“Your turn to roll; you’re detained; you forfeit; you understand…”

And the die scrambled again with expert ease
And his lips moved with his hands in a move meant to please.
And when every bone melted to pound within my skin,
He rolled the die to start all over again.

Then to the bed, he laid me like a virgin bare
At her bridal bower with her husband to share.
He curled me to deep to him as they say of spoons
And sung lullabies to me of suns and moons.

I awoke alone, with no hint of my passionate knight,
No broken dishes, not a roaring fire in sight.
And Merlin swam, blinking, just an innocent fish,
Unaware of my fulfilled fantasy wish.

So I curled back on my couch, deep in my book,
Listening to the wind howl at the shutters of my nook.
Then a jab to my rear caused me to grope blindly and sigh—
And I gasped as I realized I was holding pink die.