to the virile member

stranger:

throttle me with your new iridescent metal car
i will guarantee you another paint-job (perhaps silver)
and other singularities besides
the wait for death to come is long
one breathes silently down his long prick
or rips the jowls attempting to choke
hopeful for the silence of his climax

but i will fund this detour
his silence is guarantee
he cannot see from across a sea of phallus
the most you hear is his hoarse breath
emerging from a mound of crinkle and wrinkle
it will not be orgy
i am not arcane with my orifices

perhaps he will leave me
grow tired of his balancing act on
seven billionĀ cusps
seven billion ecstasies
he will not miss one pale body
naked as the day itĀ began this trek
i make a boring corpse

but this jealousy is too ancient and bitter
for him to ever begin
breathing silently down
his own
long shaft