The Last Lover of Heroes
Squalid were those days of thuggish delight
When the fat land's spirit the small Goths stole.
Joy was a thirst slaked, forever a night,
In that corpulent desert of mean soul.
But pastel virtue slowly starves a man
To walking death lest spurred by hunger's throes.
Standing apart I shunned the dead hearts' Pan
And found you, the last lover of heroes.
Of fleshy spirit living colors bold
You nourished me on the ripe joys to come
When truth and beauty are wrenched from lust's scold
And repatriated to love's kingdom.
Now together gray at time's ragged edge
With your love to the morrow I still pledge.
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