Dear Stranger,
May ended prematurely,
Its warm days fled
As though running from the plague.
The hands of hellish flames
Caressed every crevice,
To an orgasmic death.
My last breath fled with May,
To a faraway village
Where they grow old.
Euphoria abandoned my body,
Like an unhappy forty year-old man abandoning his family.
But it comes back every
Once in awhile,
Torturing me with its allure,
Electrocuting me one delicious volt after the other,
Until every inch of my skin
Is scarred with the memory of May.
Where a breathing corpse remains,
A beating heart does not.
So, good bye, Stranger,
With the hope of a response
From May next year
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