The Castaway’s Raft

A man spread-eagled on a sweaty bed
implores his lady for death on a cross
rather than face again this aftertaste of loss,
failing of lust and hunger for the dead.

Quick, one moment before, pulsing heat,
clung to a mattress and called for a mother,
holding to holy dreams of another
where a whole is absent between the sheets.

Frantic, the moment comes to its dire need,
and man makes his plea to heaven and earth
to save him from sea or skewer him straight
and, grieving, scatters his unlanded seed,
knowing this raft forlorn cannot hold birth,
empty of desire, except for a mate.


-JMK