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.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
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
Request permission to use this poem