Poetry

After an erotic asphyxiation 
on the dirty lips of a game, 
I hear an immaculate rhyme 
like a whore in a prayer. 
 
A hazy patch descends on eyes. 
Night slumbers 
and day ends with a bang. 
 
The guests arrives with a gusto 
dreaming the end of a track. 
Grief stands on a banished spot 
 
My flesh, my soul 
mourns in the background. 
Fear of an organized orgy 
ultimately breaks the heart.