The bridges of Madison County are
better left;
we are burning
ours.

As I watch your body fall,
through sky and sea and ash and fire;
while I’m pushing myself through
the mire,
incoherent substrata featured on the midnight news.

Your body;

And in particular your lips,
as they move rings around my
prick; the public displays of
affection we give each other.

As I push you, head first,
and I say head in the most
deviant way possible;

Head first, into the mire of the saints.

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