Other Things

I rarely write poetry, but very occasionally an idea will ambush me. This fell into my head when I was at my most vulnerable, on my way to bed at about 4.30am after a night of frantic scribbling.

The Killing Time

The killing time is come again,

when you and I will go

to slake my boredom in your blood

the debt of love you owe.

And my caresses, long, and deep,

will raise the fear in you,

that sings along my fingertips,

delights my heart anew.

I always thought you very fair,

with eyes so bright and brown.

But now I see the rage you fight

even as I hold you down.

You cannot hope to win my love,

although I wish you’d try;

for then I might give in, my love,

and let you by and by

begin the trial of tempting me

with skin not bruised and torn,

but glowing palely whole and pure –

there’d be no need to mourn.

But now we’re at the killing time,

when you and I will go

to play again the game of you,

the debt of love I owe.

2 thoughts on “Other Things”

  1. Nice to see someone else who likes writing proper poetry.
    Don’t like the modern stuff that doesn’t rhyme.

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