La Petite Mort

I frolic in her lair
Tempted by delight
And the ringing echoes
Of ecstasy.
Biting the fruits
Which isolate
And begin to craft
The wonders and horrors
Of reality.
The realities of man,
Realities of humanity.

The maids cry
Lingers, and
I glide towards in
A wisp of luxury.
As I reach her side,
Her eyes
Roll to the heavens
And her lips glisten,
Then fall apart,
To impregnate the air with pleasure.She sighs
Then laughs
At the little death,
The little death of heaven.

Reviews

[Boris]

I've always loved the french expression for "climax" and you have employed it well here in this dreamy love poem.

[Emily B]

I almost remember being 17. I'm sure I never had the grace to write something like this back then. You have my sincerest appreciation. Looking forward to reading more of your work.