citaty.net
John Betjeman, English poet, writer and broadcaster 1906 - 1984
„Late-Flowering Lust [first four lines cited at]; [JB comment: Cheer up, Dude!]
My head is bald, my breath is bad,
Unshaven is my chin, I have not now the joys I had
When I was young in sin.
I run my fingers down your dress
With brandy-certain aim
And you respond to my caress
And maybe feel the same.
But I've a picture of my own
On this reunion night,
Wherein two skeletons are shewn
To hold each other tight;
Dark sockets look on emptiness
Which once was loving-eyed,
The mouth that opens for a kiss Has got no tongue inside.
I cling to you inflamed with fear
As now you cling to me, I feel how frail you are my dear
And wonder what will be--
A week? or twenty years remain?
And then--what kind of death?
A losing fight with frightful pain
Or a gasping fight for breath?
Too long we let our bodies cling,
We cannot hide disgust
At all the thoughts that in us spring
From this late-flowering lust.“ — John Betjeman
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