Tyr and Fenrir

In the drear hours when embers glimmer
And candles gutter in a pre-dawn draught,
Ghosts gather, groaning with forgotten deeds.
Feeling flushes long-gone flesh.
You heft the heavy sword with gritty grip, blade red with raven beer,
Or grasp the pledging-ring’s cold gold.
Fingers deep in fur, feeling the breathing of the beast that shares your berth.
Warm meat sliced from slaughtered sheep, his swallowed whole and still wants more.
And when you know it must be you,
Surrender to soft moistness like another passion. And, like that,
The moment, when it comes, is briefer than you thought.
No longer than that ecstasy,
This conception changes worlds.

We are all ground by truth or guile;
The hand lies heavy on the contract band.
Lips bind; Jaws bite:
An end to lying bonds.