Eruption!
Splooging from
its throbbing core,
trickling down
from its peak,
flowing over
your curves.
If only it
would preserve
everything it
touched, like
the flood that
seeped through
every crack and
crevice of Pompeii.
With these columns
fallen over and temples
turned to ancient ruins, you
become an armless effigy
holding me at my waist.
And we will be known only as
this statue, entitled:
“Young man and woman in rapture.”
And they will ask
Were they in love?
Was that typical position?
Did she come?!
Did she come?!
But no, you
Just wipe me
Off your thigh and
Get dressed to
Go back to him.
Still, I take small
delight in knowing
that he cannot have
all of you, because
you left your
panties underneath
my comforter—a treat for
some lonely archaeologist.
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