- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Hymenoptera, suborder Apocrita
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Once again, I swallow the wasp
of your stinging voice. It wades
through the gentle mucus
of my esophagus, unable to fly
or to point its nasty abdomen
at my steady beating heart.
Trapped in my so even peristalsis
I coach you on your insect wave
toward those acid pools
that are our shared fate. I cannot
dissolve exoskeleton. I know it's hard.
But your internal organs melt
and fade as fate bleeds onto you.
I will be dead. You will be dead.
We'll then be a true couple, then
allied in death and style. We'll be
en tous. We'll be forever
joined, and we'll be mort, j'avec vous.
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