With a steaming gasp of passion
I listen to his name fall from her lips.
The creaking behind the door,
god, the creaking.
The rhythmic slapping,
an applause to my final act.

The weight conforms to my grip,
the weight of life and death,
and I release the magazine
to study and admire the lead pills,
all in a neat little row.

Each one of them carries her sentence,
and his sentence,
ready to write history in blood,
punctuating each line
with a bullet hole.