Sword or the Skin

A knight stands at the ready

An onyx sword she's sworn to

And the queen behind the door,

body vulnerable.

The knight has a job

Not to stray,

loyalty to the death

like a dog to its master.

In her quarters the queen lays,

Her knight is an ice sculpture in the garden.

Still and watching as her liege rests

Silken clothes strewn about the room

The temptation is there

Dark moonlit skin, curled hair

Supple body, perfect pair

A knight’s greatest care

But she will not take

She is sworn to the sword

And not the skin

She lives for her queen’s kingdom

Not her skin