But It Wasn't Chivalry You Were After

I knew you, too, at once felt free when the wind blew through your salt-wet raven hair. You felt newly born when the nightingale sang, songs to your chambers there. Wearing nothing but earth-tarred feathers we mingle and roll in our sins, we are splayed on our backs, breathless like two little wayfarer lambkins on an ivory-moonlit sheet. You were the she-Wolfe, I a lost shepherd you were the sunlight's nectar bound by kisses, dewy substance and I was your invisible Hector. But it wasn't chivalry you were after.