The Body
Old sack that even now costs less than a good bistecca, how simply you betray me. Like a drinking fountain running night and day on a slab of diminishing travertine as Flora bends to you with her vase or Neptune washes the scales from his hands, never stopping to think that like that whore, Perfica, who after a good night’s work, straddles you like a dolphin, you can’t keep this up for ever. One day your recklessness will sever us, and as you fall toward Orcus, so I will fall as words from another’s lips, in other mouths moving, other lips and tongues around me now singing the taste of me, the heft and clear sound.