sex poem

the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
though i am little as all little things
day is done
he's gone
moonlight deep and tender
melancholy days have come
i make my shroud, but no one knows
he'd even have his joke
you are beautiful and faded
along a river-side
the arches of the red bridge
softly now the light of day
let us pity those who are better off than we are
she said