Voracious Circle
john alan douglas
So kissing close be “l’amour”
and the dreaded “morte.”
May be in love, one
dies awhile
and lives
for another.
Then, as all else, the ecstasy
passes on,
dew on
a lawn.
And once again one becomes
a self, single
alone, on
the shelf.
And awaits sonambulantly for
the next morte
or l’amour,
another
painted
door.
