Saturday, November 28, 2009

She Comes

She comes in when she comes
And not before.
Men wait in the wild teeming streets
And tinker-toy with whores of their own invention.
They win nothing more, however,
Beyond the torment of being wishful for a tramp
Who won’t come home until they’re dead.

We kill the time with kisses
While she waits for her carriage to arrive
And everything gets creamy
And much of our nightmare is dreamt of,
Forever and a day.

For certain none ever kiss much better
Than what has been before,
Not even in these dreams;
We glimpse ourselves in tandem with the famous tart,
But no matter how we may aspire, it is all illusory so far
As we lift our lids and cuffs and drift discretely apart.

Created on 11/12/2009 9:54 AM

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Abandon hope, all ye who enter here! (At least put on your socks and pants.)