Late-Flowering LustMy head is bald, my breath is bad, Unshaven is my chin, I have not now the joys I had When I was young in sin. I run my fingers down your dress With brandy-certain aim And you respond to my caress And maybe feel the same. But I've a picture of my own On this reunion night, Wherein two skeletons are shewn To hold each other tight; Dark sockets look on emptiness Which once was loving-eyed, The mouth that opens for a kiss Has got no tongue inside. I cling to you inflamed with fear As now you cling to me, I feel how frail you are my dear And wonder what will be-- A week? or twenty years remain? And then--what kind of death? A losing fight with frightful pain Or a gasping fight for breath? Too long we let our bodies cling, We cannot hide disgust At all the thoughts that in us spring From this late-flowering lust. . John Betjeman
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More Quotes By John Betjeman
  1. And marbled clouds go scudding by The many-steepled London sky.
  2. Late-Flowering LustMy head is bald, my breath is bad, Unshaven is my chin, I have not now the joys I had When I was young in sin. I run my fingers down your dress With brandy-certain aim And you respond to my caress And maybe...
  3. I don't think I am any good. If I thought I was any good, I wouldn't be.
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