This kiss, this crying life, and that story
whispered to David, under the hanging gardens –
the promise Heloise made to Abelard,
the crowning of Ines as Peter wept.
Life lost willingly, always a fleeting thing.
Time’s lash, barbed fingers drawing blood,
the groaning underneath, movement within,
this kiss, that story.
Time over time
body over body.
Writer Moe 
Your poetry deserves to be read by more people. If you are not using tags, I would highly recommend it.
Thank you. I used to, but slacked off. I will have to go through and fix that. 🙂