By my breath
through my teeth
against your ear,
licking and lapping,
raising your hair
against your better judgment.

I'm a bad idea
you're a traffic fatality
a tragedy for the papers
pictures of roadkill
at 4 am.

What's there to shout anymore,
all that rage against nothing
the fitful madness of fleeting youth
oxytocin is a liar
and time is a vandal.

We'll bury our forebears,
we'll bury our progeny,
we'll bury ourselves.

If we were to choose,
independent of reptilian tendency,
would we choose this?
Here until not
alive until dead -
tongues teeth and eyes
our fingers probing each other's orifices
trying to plug the
leak.

Building skyward while
wasting toward nothing
trying to stave off disappointment
one bed frame at
a
time.