When the Death Card Ejaculates
4/1/2022
The Death card jerks off alone into a blue pillow,
one hand on hip, the other braced in front of him,

penis purple-red at the tip
talks dirty to an empty room, the moan
so heavy, a dart pulsating
downward, skin as hard as a bone

skeletal frame—

the Death card is a hand
running ragged fingers over
a tight set of abs, a right hand
circled around a hot shaft,

a fleshy palm, toes curled, I'd say that
Death is a masculine energy, and he
prefers to have another man's hands
on him,

still thrusting, woodenly
into the empty air of the room,
leaving behind his echoing pleasure
on the titillating search engines of
Pornhub.