It is a powerful poem, but the sex/death blurring is so great that i wonder if the title is the metaphor or the poem. And now i'm wondering if that matters. I agree with Caliban to some extent, but depite the insidious draining qualities of the poem, and the lovely last line, i wondered why it was written. That may seem like a trite question, but if i ever find myself thinking it i know there must be something lacking, something not quite original enough. Don't get me wrong, it is good poetry, but depicting the act of dying and using it as a device draws attention to the fact that it is simply an objective opinion of what death might feel like. In my opinion the poem needs a little more to hinge around, or a (very) subtle expansion of the personification of death, or (because the experience described makes me think of the more excellent aspects of drug abuse) something to gound it in a setting just slightly: 'reports and memos', the universal jargon of the fazed urbanite, devalue the poem (for me) rather than juxtaposing the sex/death imagery, but if you feel confident with them, go for it because i'm not feeling too sure on that point.
I've just finished an extended shift at the pub serving a some drunken louts so you may want to take all this with a pinch of salt.
Looking forward to your next endeavour as always, Bryn.
