Fellation Ablation

Naught makes me want to crawl into a grave  
more so than thoughts of consummating love  
reminding me of past midnights thereof  
where I as well was to passion a slave  
before the hand of fate diseased the traits    
in the gland wherein men cum to rely  
for hot love in a copious supply...  
never pondering the lack that frustrates.  
   
Then one day the horn O plenty fails,  
in thanatotic solidarity...  
with mortal anatomic verity  
as harsh as the rust on nine inch nails...  
   
now too devitalized to hammer home    
beyond the undercroft...or catacomb.