you were my last Pompeii
shadowed plumes of steam and glass carved obituaries in crisp calligraphy
my temples and my bathhouses graffitied with obsidian
gasping mountains, sweeping coasts, and sweet wineries overwritten
like history in bed with victors
the only surviving relics besides a bit of pottery and mummified debris
are warm bodies clutched in ash
writhing seizing plaster
embracing like Kujuraho and Konark
