(How power and position can destroy love).
This is miser’s meat, and
no banquet for a lusty soul,
when all along, with payment from a willing heart
better fare, shared
could have made a stronger love.
Once we both ate at Cupid’s table,
greedily pushing in the ruby berries
and seductive figs,
unashamed of our bloodied skins
writhing there, in such gluttonous ecstasy
we fell, sated, spent and gasping.
Now with fortunes changed
our insipid intellects intact,
breathing slowly, measured,
we crouch together face to face,
and watch our mutual grim-faced demise,
amongst the dwindling, starving rations of a love.
© Graham Sherwood 3/2013
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