Texas in July

[busker]

Texas in July

By midnight I was tired of pretending 
this was real. There’s nothing more pathetic than a man 
faking an orgasm, and Javier was somewhere else 
when lightning touched his guts. The sex was good enough
but something buried deep in that apartment 
smelled like someone rich had died
while working on his tan, a sheen of oil
on all the molecules, like Texas in July.

It crossed my mind that I would kill
to have the last two hours back, before he looked at me
like I was something he could drink. “You'll die
if we do that again--" A line cut out between his legs
full of sin and Red Bull, grinning 
like he just grew wings. I’m not young anymore
we both knew it was true, but when an angel tries so hard 
to fall in love, sometimes you have to lie.

In green are the obviously outstanding lines.
There is too much enjambment going on in this poem. Enjambment is ok to propel a pome along, to create a hypnotic trance, as if the pome can’t wait to move on from line to line.
I find an overuse of it here, which given the rather bathetic topic, makes it feel gimmicky.

I yes, I find the subject to be rather dull, like something you’d read in a 90s women’s magazine. But that’s a personal preference.