End point

You are on the edge 

of learning my 

Death.

My eyes roll’d like 

the Ancient Rocks of

Greece; mouth floated

on the tip of Word ——

Yes! Give me the word

and the Austrian strings

and out of the question 

for the last time Sucking 

the air out of its space.

Yes! Give me the

Word, the attention

amped Up, the apt 

sound of it bringing in——

the sandglass held 

onto

the eyes of my light——

a yellowness once stood for

repelled ‘n’ répété 

on the hopeless cube,

Cupid of ice.

I want, at the end 

of today (and yesterday),

sex on platonic 

thin ice:

Sweetie, we are on 

Thin ice, so

lay with me and breathe

because ——

You are on the edge 

of learning my 

Death.