August 11, 2005
-
New poem…
Together We Die
As we laid face to face
beside each other, I thought
on how the Victorians called
an orgasm “the little death.”
You curled a sleepy hand
around my hip and struggled
to keep drooping eyes open
while mumbling an apology.
My lover, I’ll not think you insensitive
if you drowse but a short while,
for I know “the little death”
can cause a death-like sleep.
Comments (2)
Ah, le petit mort. . yes. Well done! I like this very much.
this is deathly romantic. At least I know I wn’t die alone.