Languished Late

In baser mood they languished late into the day,
made love deliciously in slow and easy moves
of players skilled at this, entrained a reawakening
of time stood still, played on humble instruments
fulfilled through years of frequent use, a bow strung
tight, a diaphragm that wove in rhythmic vote, hips
reflexing eager thoughts, hands on venous strings
they plucked between their taut suspended lips.

The tides of ecstasy that waxed and waned
in tune to rising blood and heady heat, echoed
cries of joy replete, of heavy breathing quick
constrained preceding claims for bliss sedated
in climacteric. The script contained a music score
of racing hearts, of frantic speed dispersed with
passages of slower beat, and there they bid their
fantasies complete in comfort of the quiet amazed.

In limpid mood and calmer vein their arms entwined
by liquid sighs and sight returning to their eyes she
took his penis in her hands to comfort it. To think this
sorry little thing could make me cry so wretchedly
she wondered ‘loud in disbelief. No pretty sight it is,
wrinkled and contrite, bereft of any sign of life while
me, I’m open to expression like a lake that brims
with passion’s waves of scarcely rendered energy.

We’ve languished late again my love, time is pressing
at the gate, I must arise and leave you here alone to gain
your manhood back. And as she rose his liquid flowed
from passion’s lake and trickled down her quaking limbs.
© I.D. Carswell 2006