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Dead Poets

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Poetry By
  Les Morgan

Published on: 12/8/2014
Doomsday Love

Wouldn't you know,
on the Apocalypse,
I meet you.

Gabriel's last tune
is playing,
when first
I hear your voice.

Over distant hoof-beats
of four horsemen,
I speak the music
of your name.

Beneath the pink glow
of a bloody moon,
I taste the moist
warm sweetness
of your mouth.
The trembling touch
of our hands and bodies,
skin electric with desire,
reduces the final cataclysm
to a shiver in the dark.

We are soul mates
on this Judgment Day,
no panic of repentance,
our love redeems us,
as the world ends,
with a kiss.

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