Flesh on flesh. Eyes watch eyes
Following fingers round curvatures. Caressing skin.
Skin on skin. Flesh in flesh.
A gin-sung-dream –
Silent utterances from the dark-side of a candlestick.
An unsung overture to Nature’s greatest gift
And Nature’s perfect curse.
Lips pursed open, speechless. Breathless.
Wide-white eyes scream STOP. blink. GO ON.
Glances flash between the flickers of candlelight ,
Meeting unknown looks in the black. Bodies
Embrace, writing words that have their own
Music. Heard only by its two composers.
Everywhere the other wishes to be –
Vivacity. Revelling in promiscuity.
Obscurity. Strangers share a warmth
As old as the ages.
A wafer-thin knife-edge of meaning.
Gin-song dreaming. An opaque tonic
For loneliness.
Hands in hands, heart fleeting.
The perfect curse of Man
In the stroking of skin.
Later, a vague sound of water, a towel
A drawer closing – a door latch clicks.
The world floods back.
Through the curtains,
Through the drainpipes
Your fleeting heart sheepishly returns,
Aching like a hangover.
Too much gin.
The momentary tonic wears off.
Heart in hand,
Hand to head.
Candlelit premonitions return.
Heated flesh. Arching backs.
Fingers through hair…
Salty fingers through oily hair and
Blood-red-wine lipstick smudges and
A singeing waxy smell makes you reel
To the window for air.
And there you are again,
In the middle of a city that knows you
More than your Alcoholic Lover,
A Melancholic Mother to all your needs,
Except the one you tried to soothe
A few hours back.
The one you pine for.
The one you lack.
Oh, this Humdrum City
Rushing you, with your heart in your hand, off your feet.
And your heart in the street
And the gin in your glass
Whenever you meet
Whoever it is that might
Make you complete…
A vague sound of water, a towel,
A candle extinguished, a door hinge creeks.
Wafer-thin. Flesh on flesh.
A belt buckle rings, a zip
A drawer closing, a door latch clicks.
The door latch clicks.
The door latch clicks.
