Worlds Die 1974. Poem by Terry Collett

Worlds die
she said
people die
but the gods live on.

Benny knew it
was the booze talking
but he listened to her
none the less.

In the background
the Mahler's 6th
coming from the Hi-Fi
over in the corner.

Where'd you read that?
he said.

Not read
she said
intuition a woman's
intuition.

She supped
more of the scotch
he had brought
he supped too.

You know what?
she said
making love
is to be with the gods
momentarily such
as mortals can briefly
so we need
to make love.

Her speech
was slurred now
but understandable.

Are you sure?
Benny said.

She stared at him
of course the gods
demand it of us
she said.

She closed her eyes
sipping the last drops
of the scotch.

He finished his
and placed it on
the coffee table
in front of the blue sofa.

She put her glass down
with a clatter.

What about the music?
he said.

It will play on
she said
Mahler shall be
our accompanist
to the love making.

She stood up
from the sofa unsteady.

Are you ready
for the task before us?
she said.

Sure am
he said.

She took his hand
and led him out
of the room along
the passage to her
bedroom.

Here is our altar
she said
pointing to the bed
unclothe yourself
she slurred.

She proceeded
to disrobed herself
swaying back and forth.

Are you sure
about his?
he said
undressing slowly
watching her sway.

It is as the gods demand
she replied.

He stood and watched
as she lay on the bed naked
her clothes thrown
on a chair.

She was silent
the Mahler filtered down
to the bedroom
the final movement.

He watched her
her eyes closed.

He began
to dress again
as she dozed.