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The Ghosts of Love & Masturbation

Life breathes  
shorter tonight  
as Death leans  
closer to the fire
secretly fingering her pussy
with one eye on your cock  
patient as bones  
God made wine  
so that dreams  
might dissolve into wishfulness
while the desert ache of years  
conspires with moonlight  
licking shadows to gush out stars  
as if the whores of heaven
had always moaned  
chateau 69
Even the lure  
of your favorite flimsies
that most potent shrine  
ripped eager from paradise limbs
fade to the grayest muse
sticky fingers sucked
still burn  
but the giddy taste of pink
no more than sparks  
vanquished blue black  
back to the darkest womb  
A million actors wait
to groan the shit out of empty
trapping lust in the blindest alley  
hornier than warts on a natterjack
craving bare dollar rain  
from your credit card  
before they'll sink their teeth  
in the ass of your screen
So where are the ghosts  
if the first time  
and the last time we fucked
float like homeless spirits  
returning helpless to dust
to join the last short sweepings  
from a dive full of hope
lost out on Savannah wilds
only flesh re-plundered
for a can of beans
Out of a thousand dirty weekends  
only the shortest softest grunt
marries the wind  
to a squirm of hope

13 May 17

(define the words in this poem)

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