Reinterring the Tomb of Velcha

North of my Rome somewheres near antique Tarquinia with its Etruscan tombs there’s this lady (his wife), this hauntingly Menrvan soon-to-be-rid-of crone who knows her husband’s defying her, ripping heaters and          again          he’s descended beneath me, tongue-on-tongue, in this excavated funerary complex nine meters below the earth. The faded underworld frescoes surround him and I, handjobs and all, atop the sarcophagus, us panting like two winged stallions yoked at the neck. 

I know she’s sore about this tryst of mine. Sorer as all hell I’m coming out on top. And when he heads home, I just know tonight she’ll kill him dead. 

Vae victus, etc.