My Fair Maiden by Derek Cantrell I often ponder a vision of my fair maiden twirling upon a pole of steel. Her hair flowing and caressing her soft skin as the delicate fabric that once covered her soft bosom, gently falls to a floor filled with coin.
I boast of things most non-gentile. I beckon for her to make haste.
My fair maiden speaks a scowl! My wish was never to offend her honor, for I am but the humble servant who tosses coin to please her.
Perhaps the toss of heavier coin would remedy the altercation?
"I merely attempt to widen your threshold for pleasure fair maiden."
My accompaniment concurs.
My Fair Maiden (Act II) by Derek Cantrell My fair maiden in fabric of snow. A cross affixed upon her breast and brow. She doth not wander, for upon her approach I feel a sweat come onto me. My face, flush of color and my palms drip of anxiety.
"Fear not, good sir" she proclaims. "It is not of plague that you suffer."
How are thee certain? My visions discombobulate and my legs give way.
"Do I not show signs of death's accompaniment? "
"Your legs give way, but other members stand strong and erect." She assures me. "Lie upon this loft and temper your thoughts, I shall remedy your ill."
"Oh great angel of mercy, are thou thoughts privy of a cure? Will my heart steady with a taste of absinthe or does it call for injection? I shall hold steadfast for bourbon, but I grow squeamish upon the gaze of a needle. "
"Fear not, young sir" she calms me. I spare you the needle, but penetration is in order.
I am bewildered, but as she climbs atop me free of her snowy garment, my remedy presents itself.