I'll play Ophelia
to your Hamlet, drunk on this
bleak gypsy love that
liquor-spikes your mad kisses.
(I'm wasted, can you taste it?)

Somehow tragedy
plus sex equals poetry.

Like gravity, we'll
drag each other down&down,
slow-fading like the
disappearing ink that fills
our veins.(your parting
gift this noose-necklace)

a mixture of forms (but it's all 5's and 7's). the death allusions are merely symbolic; they do not accurately describe how ham&oph actually die. if we stand close enough together, maybe we can feign some sensation beneath the paralysis.