death rattle orgasm

becoming less
poet writing
ignored odes
to the she that smiles
yet the impact
is left wanting
as her mind
tears through the lines
mechanically seeking
the implications
unstated clearly
in simple love

more a bee
seeking the proper pollen
to coat the quiil
possibly earning
a chance
for a night of
suicidal indulgence
with the queen
knowing that the
death rattle orgasm
is as close to forever
as he will get

scribbling in
invisible ink
frantically
verse after verse
looking for a way
to prove intent
in a litany of
pooled emotions
before it swallows
him wholly
willing to drown
if it is in her

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