When the uniform is not there to remind of past battles, when petticoats are shed so love can wear bare skin, then, and only then...surrender can be it...

The breeze was caressing the naked Colonel
that was lying down on the summer night,
by the wet cool grass like a carpet by the river,
the only one whispering was that moonlight,
telling about two lovers waiting so very long
and that they never should have been apart.

Her finger followed from his left shoulder
down to his belly button the deepest scar
a man can get from a cavalry sword without
giving for it, his soul to God, and his life;
tenderly she kissed every inch of the wound,
knowing about pain, she didn’t need to ask.

His hand went to the back of her slim neck,
tenderly pulling her over until two were one,
feeling the weight of her body, the soft skin
and the fragrance that only a woman can have,
because no flower will ever smell so sweet,
as a feminine, beautiful Southern Belle, can.

Lips searching for lips, desperation, needs,
fear of another departure, absence does that,
bend the souls and cover them with the ashes
left by the passion of many a unforgettable fire,
embracing each other with excruciating promise,
then, leaving this world to enter a different one.

He never felt so protected despite being naked,
the warm of her soft body from a blushing bride,
covering her lover with all of her long wanting,
a Cicerone she, guiding him to be deep inside,
where no one was allowed there, her secret place,
no words to open that door were necessary.

She had him at last, no sword, uniform or war,
the wounds would be sealed, love will confide,
he will be naked and forever under her skin,
she will carry him as if he were a second heart,
because in the shores of that river, the Colonel
whispered to her, I love you, with tearful eyes.