Waking to the stench of cum and compost.

One more morning. One more old ecstasy.

Waking up with a stranger, with a ghost,

someone else’s dead aunt. You were puffy

with rot, zealous with a whiff of one more

fling, fuck, whatever. I’ve got a nephew’s

hunger for the taboo and your poor, sore

cracked skin. Let the souls of sex addicts choose

me and not the Nether world. Goosebumps came

as you dug your cracked nails into my skin,

as I clutched the sheets and groaned. Willingly

given. Brutally taken … without shame.

Death is a small price to find your fuck-twin.

Celestial desire. Queer mercy.