Blade and Love
Soft as silk, be my mistress' leather, and kind as buds be her sting. Of lust I clearly speak, yet only those of the Art, know Loves sickest Craft. Love may bloom, and love may die, but our Lust will always profound. Be it of her design, or be it of mine, once love blooms, it makes room for Lust. To lose ourselves in each other, without wanton grace for each others care. To impress upon each other, our sacred marriage vows, and express them in any way possible. At the bazaar or at the fine Inn, together we go; even is our Love, be as sour as the Bees on your Bud.