Love again: wanking at ten past three(Surely he's taken her home by now?),
The bedroom hot as a bakery,
The drink gone dead, without showing
To meet tomorrow, and afterwards,
And the usual pain, like dysentery.
Someone else feeling her breasts and cunt,
Someone else drowned in that lash-wide stare,
And me supposed to be ignorant,
Or find it funny, or not to care,
Even… but why put it into words?
Isolate rather this
That spreads through other lives like a
And sways them on in a sort of
And say why it never worked for me.
Something to do with violenceA long way back, and wrong rewards,
And arrogant eternity.
