Desire

There is a knight, in this ancient land, who goes around fucking everything in sight.  Sir Siripila, the knight of fornication.  Perfusion.  Liberation.  Transcendence from this dying breath.  

This knight, with armor of rust, enters the brothel to rest his tired oath.  Having fought and killed boys of less fortune, is prepared to lick and screw girls of less fortune.  The knight enters.

Waking up to sunlight dancing with dust, the knight rises with head in hand.  The burn from the parasites will not discourage the perverted knight.

Looking into the looking glass the knight  declares:

“I am Sir Siripila.  The evolution of man.”

After washing his balls, he returns to the bed to find the whore vanished.  A credit to her profession.

*

Plucking through the briars, Siripila collects a dozen shades of color.  Presenting the queen’s handmaid with a bouquet of thoughtfulness, the galiant adventurer works his way into court.

“My Lady, if it pleases you, I wish to become your King.”

“What brazen cockiness this tongue that speaks to me.”

“This tongue can do many other things…"

Sir Siripila blazes his eyes into hers.  The queen melts with the pleasures of being a woman.

“I see."

Said the queen.  

"If thou is so confident in thyself then surely thee will be pleased to conquer for his queen.”

“Most certainly.”  

Exclaimed the foolish knight.  And off to war he went.

*

Killing Moslems is an honor.  A hope for the civilized.  They are unsophisticated.  Unworthy of breath.  Best they be converted to the West, or brought to death.

*

Returning from his conquest, Siripila enters once more.  Into the fuck of it all.  Ignoring the court.  The bling of false hope.  Siripila enters his humanity.

A whore is there to greet him.

“Welcome back my Lord.”

“We’ll cum alright.”

*

Sir Siripila lived an adventurous life.  

Tis a shame how he died.  

Infected loins.

The final breath, tagged with an S.T.D.

Defiant, Siripila mocks his last confession.

“Fuck me.  Please.”

*

Shocked, the priest refuses to administer the syphilitic knight’s last rite.  

No great loss for the champion.  Siripila is no lover of sacraments.

Off to hell he charges, with a grin.

*

The queen, the whores, the fantasy, is young and pretty.