Across the valkyrie’s curve...

Across the valkyrie’s curve mere’s molten pours
Aside a wounded watcher’s clad in warming ore;
Sculpted in skin her white heat fires lust,
O, carry him to Valhalla! Raise him in your bust!

Burn blood red upon his vein,
Thrust heaven’s shape upon his frame;
To the seat of Glandsheim ride him straight
From mortal pain tumult his fate.
In flesh alive, O force your breast,
For hips between a fire attests
To burn away the mourn and wound,
Release his spirit, run aground.
Pressing forth, de-paralyse
Until the spark of Thor shoots from his eyes!
Then part you skin at heaven’s bide
And strong he’ll stand by Odin’s side.