Disuse, ill-use, and less, linger in mind

Disuse, ill-use, and less, linger in mind,
Bitter after-dregs of lust: coil and swarm
Of tremblant bodies that beat love's drum warm
Now emptied of gestures gentle and kind.

. . . So far from the pinnacle of a kiss
Have we fallen;  threshed, discardedly thrown
From Empyrean peaks to a bowl of down,
From fittest prospects to runt ends of this:

A dead-end day spent in wandered wastage,
Touched looks that leave two lovers more alone
Than when confined to daydreams on the phone;
Night's disconnect comes more in regret than rage.

Anticlimax teases like a serenade
As less and less we conspire to be glad.