sing your swan song

They had to dress normal, my other boyfriends, be beardless, hairless, everything torn away, plucked, shorn smooth, because it elicited moisture on the tongue (when I was with you.) But I grew bored as the day before I first saw you.

I was like a new moon again after you left, with its light fire still surviving the hold of the blue day, ship, riverbed and belly, like a classical living being. Impregnated, drifting forward with time, impartial to the firm law and plan, putting to bed all prior argument, covering all with a little forgetful flesh. And truth be known, I would have given up that whole show in a heartbeat, to be with you again.

So sing, sing your swan's song. Sing on, until time melts and means nothing. You can lean on my shoulder if you must. I will certainly lean my head on yours, and with my arm around your waist, we will watch the darkness fade away. It's too late to stop it now.