For the rest of time (this is it)

Breathe in and realise this is as good as it gets.

The honey-stained sheets,
the long embraces,
the kissing lips like copulating slugs
this is it.

You might fool yourself and think:
more sunny days will come,
I will enjoy another cool drink
under the shade of the loving oak tree,
gazing towards the swift-dotted sky.

You might say:
I will wake up to a pair of juicy thighs
and lay my eyes on the intense greens and blues
outside my window
I will live again tomorrow, and for years to

But sadly, this is untrue.

Or perhaps- happily, this is untrue,
for how lifeless would those long-drawn love-lorn
into each others' eyes seem,
how cheap would our youthful bodies wrapped
around each other be,
how valueless the colours
and the scents
and the feeling of cold, clear water running
painlessly down our elastic throats be,
if they were to exist again tomorrow,
and the day after tomorrow,
and for the rest of time.


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