Love Is A Battlefield

originally posted February 14, 2006

"There are other songs," she pleaded.

I held her by the wrist, having pulled her to the dirt beside me. I was not inclined to release her. The girl, Joy, informed me that she recollected a song from her barbarian past. Something scandalous, perhaps. I bid her to sing it. I bid, too, blonde Samantha to sing. I understood not a word of it, of course. The import, however, was clear. Were there any doubt to my perception, auburn-maned Joy danced. What words were hidden in their barbaric tongues were revealed by the way her shoulders pitched forward and shook from side to side. It was scandalous, indeed. She way finding that out, testing ever so subtly the firmness of my grip - finding it like iron.

"There are other songs," she repeated hopefully, fearfully.

Are all the songs of her world as such? Threatening, challenging diatriabes? The scandal I hoped to raise in the minds of my audience was not one so brusquely delivered. 'Here is Second Knowledge,' I hoped to say to them. This, I fear, would simply anger them and, having angered them, would arouse them dangerously. My knuckles were white. Perhaps I have underestimated what the notion of a barbarian song could be. Thrown to the floor of my tent, what I did to her was quick. It was rude.

"There are other songs," she whispered weakly.

There had better be.