[lit-ideas] SUNDAY POEM

ANOTHER YEAR CLOSER 

I'm sitting here on this the last day of the year,
lamenting like Borges the limitations of time,
knowing there are doors that I'm 
never going to open again
ever in my life.

The diminishment of my senses saddens,
fences me in when most I want to wander
wild among the sensual delights of being.

Let Yeats celebrate the monuments
of unageing intellect,
let them who will reflect on God's holy fire,
I only know the desire 
to feel again the joy of your skin,
the press of your lips and our tongues' touch.

Clutch to your breast the things you love best,
Knowing that the end begins at the beginning too.

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