Celia Gilbert
Celia Gilbert
        
De Profundis


It was always a question of slave and master
though there was a word
 “love.”

I did, and the crying…
so much and many tears finally
wiped the burning coal
from my eye.

The gentlemen sniff their brandies
and light up cigars. 
All black suits,
no knights any longer

but nights when
the smooth parts
and the hairy ones
inevitably entwine,

the tender oh so... 
a glance more physical
than a caress.

The veins stand out;
the heart’s a carriage
struggling
to the top of a hill.

Driver, take me,
take me wherever I need to go.




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