The Eighth

This kiss, 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.

2 thoughts on “The Eighth

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