Clad only in your girlywhites <br />you come to me, promising <br />nights of dark pleasure. <br /> <br />Your skin is softer <br />than the sighing winds of autumn, <br />and your smile more winsome <br />than the first blushings of spring; <br />and tenderly, caressing my hand, <br />you lead us both into the innocence of first love, <br />whispering all the while words in my ear, <br />words that cannot be true, but have a music <br />all their own, a hymn to the night, a hymn <br />to all that is pure and still unsullied. <br /> <br />But as you remove your underwear, I see <br />that it is dirty and soiled <br />with the yellowish-brown ooze of your body, <br />and that you are unclean with the uncleanness of the world <br />passing through you, <br />entering and exiting over and over, <br />always leaving its mark <br />as it dies within you. <br /> <br />And so I perceive <br />that death has his finger on you <br />now and forever. <br />He is your true lover, <br />always faithful, never leaving you, <br />(which is more, perhaps, than I can promise) , <br />and you are of his flock. <br /> <br />He loves you and touches you <br />on the inside, beneath your clothes, <br />beneath even your skin. <br />In parts that I cannot reach <br />he caresses you and knows you deeply <br />in the flesh. <br /> <br />Now he waits patiently beside our bed. <br />He can be neither hurried nor stayed. <br />He will take you at last <br />and have his way with you: <br />for to him <br />you never were a virgin.<br /><br />Rory Hudson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sex-and-death/
