the letter

I wrote you a
letter
it sits on my
pillow
like some
exhausted
whore
the words curl
around each
other
like
flaccid snakes
lifeless
and
imbecilic.
the corners  
turn up,
their desire for
me
spent;
dry exploring tongues,
they
merely mimic
passion.
the signature
is the only
living
bit:
passionate, wet
and
gasping for
air
like some strange
sacred
fish
or  a
man
who knows too
late
that he is to
die.