They wish their hearts weren’t dead

Profanities, bubble, between us
Fish like they uproot a devils tongue.
Descend; triple barded loatheness...
Death rasping recoils nonchalant lungs.

Love in its mirror myriad, Blue-scale, finale
Runs out of oily breath... Each hook of you
And barb of me, has been line pulled through...
The broken coral reefs the Tin Pan Alley.

But the past is now reeling in the present
Again the nets ascend the sulphur torches
A lovingly strangled future, grievant
Cry-out fish-eyed dead their tear gushes.
Small fry eyes bulging from the oceans bed
Hear vulgar langue wish their hearts weren’t dead.