Folding these my genitals into the soft privacy of the parched cocoon. Careful, Lust! Do not disturb that gentle dust. Lightly, precisely, park your eternal lips against my own forever mouth, fasten firmly in place. Yes! Twin thoraces fixed just so, allowing free articulation of limbs in the moon’s easy breeze. And, now, our skins unzip along spines, splurge toward the distant vacuum beyond the edge of the sheet, until your wings purple lurid under the lunar fluorescence iron themselves indistinguishably into mine (soft-yellowed).
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh. More leaves in someone’s unremembered book. All, the rest, is settled. Only our eyes bulge up, multifaceted and questing, from the petrified flatland. Until mourning dawn shakes again the pin loose and fossils rewake.