I hated you as I desperately undressed you,
untying your tie to find it kept your head on straight,
slipping off your wing tips to find that you had skeleton feet.
What's it like to be eighteen and in love with a dying Man?
Welcome to the City,
marvelous visions of skyscrapers,
elation, sensations, what love--do I love this?--
but you know it'll kill you too, kid.
the exhaust will bind your lungs,
the stress is clanging on the walls of your heart
with wrenches--
and if you stay long enough,
his death will trap you too.
No comments:
Post a Comment