I could do you
during
doomsday

see the angels
horning away
from their graves and graveyards
piles of bones and dirt
reuniting in disharmony
misshapenly misrepresenting
Quevedo’s Sueños

see the angels
trumpeting off misers
fluting maggots to starvation
while we
in syncopated unison
blossom by deflowering

I could do you
during
doomsday
and climax
as your firmness floats aloof
towards purgatory
and down I descend
into tepid hell