Death to Eros

Sean Wilkening

Laying down on May flowers
In summer. And the moon

Comes blue like an easter egg.
When your lover exhales, taste the air.

A scent of wine
From her red lined lips.

Insecure from believing lovers.
Death to Eros.

But he can disinjure her.
The willow moans

A symposium of sounds.
Systolic and diastolic

Reach a new high
When her breasts press

Hard against his chest.
Giving finite proof

That in an infinite cosmos
They are not imagined.