Stale sex and smoke
Insinuated into the air
Like a nasty rumour
Naked yellow bulb
Throwing shadows of despair:
Do you see the humour
In the joke we have become?
Well, that makes one of us.
Tap, tap, tap - the watchman’s cane
Accompanies the drunkard’s song
Tap, tap, tap – on the window-pane
She drums her fingers, thin and long
The air is languid, bloated, blue
Like the carcass of a bull
Perhaps, her body’s passion is true
But, of bitterness her heart is full
Outside, as it uncurls
Softly purrs the moonlit night
Soft, her undulating breasts
But, in her eyes, a steely light
Me, the smoke from her cigarette mocks
As it mingles with her breath
Silently, her fingers in mine she locks
And strangles our love to death.
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