Afterwards, they slept,
breathing an air
dense with their mingled sweats
and wetnesses,
essence that made their sleep
heavy and pure

Afterwards they slept
the sleep they share
for whom the end has come,
when nothing’s left
for lips or eyes to tell
or yet pretend

Afterwards they slept—
and where they lay
spent, sleep took away
the sun, and pleasure went
where pleasure goes when sleep
turns limbs to lead

and drives its wedge
between the sleepers
so they wake
separate and still
and near the edge.
Afterwards, they slept.