This is the end of the world, my love,
this is the belly of night,
a savage stillness of universe
to smother our short loan of light.

Do not take off your clothes, my love,
do not tempt my desire.
The damaged earth is tired of us,
she is tired of us, she is tired

And the vanishing stars are disinterested
in any affectionate play.
They look to the weighing of everything--
I tremble to see what we weigh.

C. E. Chaffin