When the hottest, reddest magma
Gushed high into the air, soon to
Rain down on the city Pompeii
He and she refused to flee
Their vigorous, clutching nails
Wrinkled the bed and history
Her legs lifted in the air
Spread like two wings, to meet the screwing root of the
Thorn apple flower
His rhinoceros buttocks slamming her
The fire of desire in the palms of his hands springing
From her perfectly round breasts
And her long hair, like a spider web
Unable to net the shaking of the bed
Eternity is a gate
That must move and never stop
Her mouth half open, tongue
Showing, shouting oyster of flesh
The discharged magma finally
Showered their bodies
Solidifying immovable heaven in an instant
In the excavated city of Pompeii
The tourists offer admiring exclamations
For the “magma bed” of love and death
And expose their wolf eyes
And hippo noses, they feel
Mt Vesuvius behind them
Still burgeoning unseen
Responding to the pull of the full moon
Shoot silvery stars
At the moving gate of eternity . . .