The Victor's Homecoming

You stand above me,
just home from a bloody fight
(probably about a thousand years ago -
how DO you do that?);
sword hastily cleaned,
but needing it better done . . .

Wounds here, there,
and everywhere
dance across your stately form
scars and open cuts . . .
seeing this destroys me

Every.  Single.  Time.

You'd gone hunting evildoers -
those who now do what you have long outgrown;
which you've long repented of delighting in,
having learnt the horror of it yourself.

You bring the consequences of their choices
to their own doorstep,
where they can begin to learn the lessons
you did,
so many thousands of years ago.

"My Treasure,"
you ask, as I clean and disinfect the sores,
exhaustion wisping out the edges of your
battle-hollowed voice,
"Why do you weep?"

Oh, my own Beloved One!
You left to protect the unprotected,
who did not know their own power.
Your return to me finds you
bruised and bloodied!
How could I not weep, Delight?
How could I not be horrified!?!

"You should have seen the other guys."

Your wry half-smile lights the worlds,
a beacon to my pain-mired soul.

Ah well, let's get the bandages,
I say in my foolish selfishness.

"My body doesn't work that way.
I'll be fine in a few more moments,"
you tell me, as you stroke my hair,
bending close to the top of my head.

I know, I tell you,
looking up into your liquid yellow eyes,
but this is how I give shape
to my love for you,
Great Fox Who Walks the Star Roads.

Your eyes mostly close,
a sweet expression on your face,
possessive -
and you press your lips to
my third eye, with every reverence;
to the tip of my nose, with mild amusement;
to my lips, with a depth of passion unmatched.

You pull away to look down at me,

"I may well Walk the Stars, Delight,
and there are many who say of Me,
'this is my Spouse,'
for this or that considered reason.

But only you
did I form in a womb.

And only you . . .

only you
(in all these sacred pieces)
have been my one Life-Bond
for all eternity,
and many more besides.

Fear nothing,
for you hold my heart and spirit.
You see me for exactly who I am.
Which is more than I dare to hope.

Thank you.

For knowing I am not an object of worship,
but a being needing compassion,
needing truth,
needing to reminded he is only,
at core,
a humble being at play
in all the worlds.

Thank you."

And,
face uplifted,
stretching up on tiptoe,
as tall as I can make myself -
I offer you my kiss.