Blacksmith and Stable Lass.

Hot and red, Texan sun breaks.
Steaming mist from grass doth wake;
The dozing stables, warm and hushed.
Through pre-dawn; my chores I’ve rushed.

For on this day, come once a week,
The Blacksmith and his iron seek.
He sets his anvil, his furnace lit;
Make sure each shoe the perfect fit.

Walk down the row with horse in hand,
Before the ‘smith we come to stand.
“The mornin’ to ye, stable miss.”
He said as molten iron hissed.

I put the mare in crossties sure;
A final stroke through silky fur.
“How have you kept, mistress of stalls?”
The Blacksmith asks as mallet falls.

“Quite well dear Sir, you must believe;
I’ve done nothing your mind could conceive.”
“Aha,” he laughed and replied so sly,
“Surely known, I’ve purest mind’s eye!”

I watched him from beside the mare;
Sturdy built with greying hair.
Strong rough hands and muscles taut;
In game of wit and words we’re caught.

A laden look, a sly grin hid,
Iron into the furnace slid.
“Where shall we break for lunch young ma’am?
I’m sure you’ll want a cool dram.”

“Why yes kind Sir, I surely do.
Some sugar sweets and chocolate too.”
“Is that all young miss, you must be mad,
For sweeter than those you could’ve had.”

“I’m sure dear Sir, from kindness such,
You’d simply melt under my touch.”
“Ah, will the Lady not even try?
For through such jests ye’ cannot lie.”

“But dear Blacksmith there’s naught return,
For nothing you give, I’ve not ready learned.”
“Oh young miss, your mind let fill;
Do anything for you I will.”

“Come now Sir, we must to work.
For these days’ chores we mustn’t shirk.”
“Alas dear Lady, you are quite right,
Though from below there’s quite a fight!”

So forage stoked and rasp to file;
The labours continue for awhile.
I come ‘round time the mare is done,
To supply him him with another one.

“How thou fare, dear Blacksmith now?”
As I give him drink, to me he bowed.
“Come dear Lady, I must thee show,
For there is something ye’ must know.”

With sudden twist and strong hands wrapped;
Pulled me in the stall he trapped.
My breath stolen by his deep kiss,
I teetered on the edge of bliss.

With gasp of shock I teareth free;
My body quivered to my knees.
“My Lord we cannot do this here,
For surely there are workers near!”

Sultry eyes and lusty growl,
“Be assured miss, there’ll be no foul.”
“Surely not Sir,” his ear I bit,
“Safer the lamb between lions sit!”

“Oh sweet lass, don’t deny me this,
So long we’ve skirted our hidden bliss.”
I pulled him close, felt the heat within;
Our roaming hands, heedless of sin.

Fingers fumble over chinks of leather.
His kiss my neck; the softest feather.
Aches of lust betwixt us each,
To forbidden pleasures do we reach.

A flash of truth and steady sense,
“Sir, we must stop these pleasures hence!
I cannot be caught here with you,
If banish’ed, my options few.”

A nearing voice we heard too clear.
Passion vanisheth to fear.
Rapid fix of garments laid;
Visage wiped clean, innocence displayed.

From out the stall the ‘smith doth walk,
To greet the voice and gaily talk.
“How now Sir, on this sunny day?”
“Superb!” came the voice from not far away.

“Hark lass, what business you there?”
“Naught, dear Sir, but a stall worker’s care.”
Out I stumbled with polite a smile,
And stood to talk with them awhile.

Niceties told and politeness exchanged,
At last the intruder went on his way.
“Aha, now ‘Smith did I not warn thee?
Our lust shall be the death of me!”

A slow grin crept o’er lips still red;
A shiver slid down from my head.
“Finish you must, dear Blacksmith Sir,
Before I fall again to your lure!”

The clash of iron renewed once more,
The furnace beltched a steady roar.
To all the world, a ‘Smith at work;
Though heady lust and passion lurk.

At last he stood with deepest sigh,
Of muscles pained and tired eyes.
As I walk the mare back to her stall;
I fell his gaze, on me it falls.

This day of work is nearing done,
Yet there he stands, in setting sun.
By guise of aide I draw to him;
Fighting mind, welcoming whim.

His wares we packed, most workers gone.
Brief glimmer in his green eyes, shone.
Swept close to me and my hand took;
He beckoned me with lusty look.

“One last, my Lady, a final kiss,
For hence this while I shall thee miss.”
Pressed up on shadowed wall so hid;
A very sweet goodbye we bid.

“Breath, dear Sir!” I said pulling away,
“For you’ll return in six short days.
So until then your mind must make;
Your heart, and lips, and body wait.”

“Six more days, that will not do,
For this work’s lacking, without you.”
He said and groaned with laden sigh,
As I held his hands and then replied:

“There’s plenty work yet to be done,
Though in between, we’ll have our fun.
And from the rest, their notice passed,
For we’re but Blacksmith and Stable Lass.”

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Tags:

poem, romance, lust and stables