88.Surrender _ Jules Angold

It’s the tickle of the tongue;
It’s a long deep sigh;
It’s everything sliding into place
Because we’ve been lured beyond the gate.

Whimpering sounds of protest
Can’t ever be heard over the sound
Of the cicada’s cry,
Because life is so short
We’ve but a single mission
To mate and then to die.

There’s hazy languor in your eyes
As our bodies fade into fusion;
We’re entering into that secret place
Where grammar, syntax, and arithmetic
Have no meaning;
It’s an indolent dogmatism;
It’s the act of conception.

The tantalizing brush of your lips
Destroys the remnants of my army;
I’m a trillion cell massive apparatus—
But you’ve reduced me to a spook,

A demon that wants only you.
To move sensuously over your flesh
Is to lose even the ghost
Of an idea I once had of something gone;
I’m dying in your arms;

And it’s a sweet, sweet death…✍

22 thoughts on “88.Surrender _ Jules Angold

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