There are No More Lovers

A cloud of grasshoppers climb
From the rose that is my heart
It passed before the sun

Between the Moon and the crickets
Battalions of trials before security
I join the wandering and forget

Holiness, with an ordinary lust
For sensations I cannot find
They would trample the green

But I do not sense the freshness
Perhaps I have had too many lovers
Their nameless histories, inherited

In my corridor of tip-toe guilt
I’ve served the densest gardens
With the highest of intentions

But my lips are bruised on the lips
Of the bruised lips of those I have kissed
My virtues have been undressed by time.

8 thoughts on “There are No More Lovers

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