The Nymph Has His Heart

An Iron God rules,
over steel skies,
but he cannot ignore,
those forest-hazel eyes,
wide and hungry,
they shake this God to madness,
melting ice cold steel,
replacing ancient sadness.
 
There sits a God,
of iron and cold,
tyrant and lichlord,
With his mask of gold,
immovable by nature,
empty and black,
untethered by sorrow,
but not from its lack.
 
Here comes the nymph,
who will not be kept,
making music so sweet,
the Iron God wept,
irresistible by nature,
genderless at heart,
free of religion,
at least at the start.
 
They set fire to his steel,
they twisted the nymphs branches,
as the nymph blushes,
and as the flustered God blanches,
he's lost his control,
as the nymph stirs his lust,
feeling his touch,
gaining his trust.
 
So the God taints the nymph,
who makes the God smile,
even over distance,
even through the miles.