Death Is a Soft Gray Kitten

Death Is a Soft Gray Kitten

Death is a soft gray kitten
Fondling my thighs,
A dead gray moth
Lying in the fallen leaves.

Once a butterfly was off
Unfolding petaled loves.
But then, I know, a butterfly deceives.

A touch of birth,
An after-taste of death,
It’s hard to tell the worth
Of flowers with one breath.

As pleasures lie
So leaves and petals fall;
So moths and butterflies must die.

A soft gray kitten fondles of us all.

(written circa 1965)

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