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Oct 2018
Oh, how I delight in the taste
     of my lover’s scent
     as she cries out my name!
In my arms, a slender orchid
     worshiped to soft placidity,
     she murmurs
     do I still yearn for my virginity?  
And I whisper, my love,
     ten thousand times
     ten thousand times, no.

For what we tender feel in lost virginity
     is not for lost virginity alone
Not for a shred of skin or a drop of blood;
     what human being mourns this?
That small ***** we feel
     is the eternal mortality
     of all lost first experiences.
Then let us thank the Gods they spare us,
     for now,    
     our last virginity.

Think now upon the family and friends
     we have lost
     to disease or hunger, to time
     or accident, to addiction or war.  
How shall we remember them
     if not their names?
How shall we speak of them?
Will you remember me?
     Or shall I become as dust in this temple?

Loudly, all my loves, hear me,
      come now with me!
Let us leave this temple for a time,
     walk with me to my secret garden
     where we shall remove these robes
     and look upon one another
     with the gift of acceptance
     and where
     we shall place flowers in our hair.  

Where we shall hold hands
     and walk a bit farther
     to the river and bathe one another
     in the moonlight.
Then let us return here to celebrate
     the memory of the fallen
     as the Gods intended.
Let us remember the names,
     let us speak the names and lest we forget,
cry out their names.
A tribute to Sappho
Girard Tournesol
Written by
Girard Tournesol  M/The Pennsylvania Wilds
(M/The Pennsylvania Wilds)   
6.5k
   A R Fitz-Gerald
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