asklepiades (asklepiades) wrote,

Let me be myself

What do philsophers think of love?
And saints,
when someone else lets their clothes slip off
peeling away the outer layers?
Does the philanthropist still think back
to the days when she'd press her lips to his,
the soft glow of the moonlight
on her breast
upon his chest,
their sweat mixing with the aroma of their love?

The martyr and the humanist,
the great thinkers and peace-bringers,
what do they think of love?

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