Upon her belly lay my head,
within a graveyard in the night.
And as my lips rose to her breast,
she softly whispered, “Love, be still.”

My cheek alive among the dead,
how on her flesh it burned with might!
Although my passion found no rest,
she softly whispered, “Love, be still.”

“My love,” I implored in her ear,
“I want to die here with you now.”
But with her hand, she pushed away,
and softly whispered, “Love, be still.”

And as her lips did calm my fears,
and as she softly stroked my brow,
and as her head did rock and sway,
she softly whispered “Love, be still.”

I felt her flesh against my nose,
I felt her black hair brush my cheek.
I said, “How sweet you are! How kind!”
She softly whispered, “Love, be still.”

Each day my longing for her grows,
and love of her doth make me weak.
But when lust hunts me in my mind,
she softly whispers, “Love, be still.”

Published in Eber & Wein Publishing
June 2015

This entry was posted in Poems.