He talks, turning a sun-stainsd

Cheek to me, his mouth, a dark

Cavern, where stalactites of

Uneven teeth gleam, his right

Hand on my knee, while our minds

Are willed to race towards love;

But, they only wander, tripping

Idly over puddles of

-Desire.... Can't this man with

Nimble finger-tips unleash

Nothing more alive than the

Skin's lazy hungers? Who can

Help us who have lived so long

And have failed in love? The heart,

An empty cistern, waiting

Through long hours, fills itself

With coiling snakes of silence...

I am a freak, It's only

To save my face, I flaunt, at

Times, a grand, flamboyant lust.