desperation, need, beer, whiskey
combination of all elements
weaknesses and pie, the sky
dark beneath a street lamp
shadows and silence, late night
suburbs beckon to no one,
the privacy of glass and steel
the night alone with my hand
resting on your shoulder, torn
blood runs dry, flows downward
feeling your eyes wander
and the subject, broached
by me, so you say you can make
any man come to
and my hand rests neatly in your
hair, once done now loosed about
feeling you try, your lips and hand
soft and then determined, like a furious game
of whack a mole, whack a cock
so that near the end I wonder
if Buddha ever sat in his car
got lost in the streetlights
with a pretty monk at his lap
and felt as zen as I was just then
which is to say, nothing