Pour

Bodies joining

In the dark

For mere multiplication

The old man stares

An image

Hard to the core

Softening afterwards

Softening still

Unless the old man

Jumps to his feet

His gaze frozen into a grip

Masterminding

Their departure

Thus the bodies un-joined

Each suck throwing up a corpse

Nipples connote genocide

And the poor old thing

Hardening on...still

Positions

Were a kiss to pierce the dark?

Mine

Dark

Kiss

Yours

Or

Vice

Versa

A promise better still.

Is it too different

In the dark?

Can it be love in the dark?

Ours

Or

Vice

Only

Mine.

Yet

There it comes

On sloppy feet.

I pat on her head

As she goes away.

The white tunnel

Grumbles.

All love

A heap of slangs.

All life

Two half-sayings.

Saying to each other

What if they met?

scribble

The house of love

Burns

Proves

The house of love

Pours

I

There is a raw sincerity when I wish death...death only...but a plop like never before and it departs...the inability to die and the impossibility to live...do they have to be so much in love around me in the dark? I am the bench where they meet, kiss, fondle and make love...I look on...sometimes with tears...at other times, untorn...almost lidlessly...

Win-Dow

The pain of dots

Accuse on

The pain in dots

Self-accuse

All that rots

Time to go

For Good

There is

No time kept...

Pierce

If I were to tell you

Of the failed moisture

And the love impossible

On top of your greatcoat

Of the day he counted the stairs

While climbing towards the rooftop

To jump

I would stop doing all that

If I were to tell you all that

The not-all that cloven in your eyelid

And sand in his buttonholes...