Charred coitus, caught in the jaws of fury,
Eyeless sockets still sharing empathy,
Your auras waxing turquoise against the
Charcoal of your last deed. You are here
Compromised for eternity to mourn and mock;
Nearly prayerful as though you used your coitus as
A sacrament: fertility rite, swansong.
There may have been something in-between
Your soulless coils of ecstasy, we hope, though
You howl at each other like scaled fish against the hearth.
Were you drunk, you snarling souls, were you drunk,
Or even sallow from your drained veins;
Did you enjoy the small death before your death,
Or even feel the frenzied clawing on each other’s back;
Was there a coincidence between heaven and hell
As your eyes rolled back with rapture and pain
—what flashed on your retinas before the curtain fell;
Did you imagine the Madonna interceding,
Even as you hastened your rapture; did you fall
In love just before dying; did you weep or wail;
Did you try to kiss against the spring of fire;
Did you imagine an afterlife, or were
You fatalists with but simple gold coins between you;
Was it the Sabat Mater or the laughter of Hercules
You heard at the peak of your evacuation;
Or did you just see a tussle between the gods;
Are you looking down on me now with white wings,
Or looking up mournfully at me with fiery wings?
I am mourning you.
Illustration by Ishmael Annobil