oh bring on the recluse spider
from within each of us,
with bites of sacred coronation
. . . upon our kissing lips
to common our pool
of fleshy human disintegration
each upon the other
for us to eventually delight in
one festering smile
in a two for one
decomposing shared lesion
of bliss
oh, a slow rot of scintillating joy
in leaving behind our lip-infested
scarred bodies
up facing . . .
to the trickle-down of mutual soul
and the slow moving humor
of decay
as pleasingly tasteful exodus
relinquishment of our lovers' form
to phantom as one being, again
and, in all ways
. . . solitary and rare
we . . . recluse . . . ourselves
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