Nth

She says so I get it, if it doesn't come easy, you're not interested. 

If only she knew! 

Should I incise and heave more of my blue heart onto an

already sodden sleeve?

force her to forage a forty-year diary of doom?

Slip her the petered key to my gray matter maelstroms?

Nor has suicide come easy to me, but that would just prove her point.

Self-destruction has been but a benign flirtation;  

we slalom in salacious small-talk and fervid giddy glances

then part like lovers with second and nth thoughts.

  I suppose I could dramatically prove my point by

making thrilling if frighteningly fractious love to Thanatos,

but I'm just not into Pyrrhic peer-ic victories.
 

 Copyright Julianza Shavin 2008