Kiss my breast
For we are death
Run your aging fingers thro’ my hair
Bleed for me
Your blood
Drip upon mine eyes
Undress my life
Curse not the wrongs
The lady bends
Hovers o’er my flowered form
To sing our songs
And how we die!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem