Love abhorredand for love, a whore.
Welcome, I sayto sumptuousness;my room, and Iwith the loyalty of a dieand the ambivalenceof a last roulette spin.
On a Sunday night,the radio travails the frequencies,segues from love to staticlike the fey, an ouija,with the pliable planchettethat was me.
I am not a liar, and soI have always been a better friendthan lover.
Furnish the bedroom with a bird’s eye view.
Liquidity can build, inescapablyto a coercion, a surface tension
Days like these, I believe in the Devil,and by proxy, Hell.
Take the mind intoa cloud, drowsy
A chafing uncertainty askswhy monogamy
Stay with me, to be disarmed...I have a deepest want,but not for charm.