this is now your

        a
         r
          m

      and all the fingers now mashed for
   love is an ellipsis
    
    and these are now her
       l o i n s
        and there
        a flower untouched
         by the somersault
          of summer
           and *** only a folly
            of fools
             there is only this.
               poetry of the senses
                that when we both
                 die, i have gone,
                  and she is still
                   alive.