from afar you watch on a lounge chair propped
against one of the moon's many misshapen craters

quiet dawns pass by disguised by the night,
silent and barren in its tired, broken embrace
twenty million steps away from a new day

the moon ponders its silent devotion to the sun,
where you sink in the pool made from its tears―

Lips meet gently and then with force.
Dancing tongues and twisting bodies.
Straddling his core.
Gliding fingers and ***** *******.
Arched backs and delicate pressure.
Passion dripping into his mouth.
Sweat drenched bodies and heightened pleasure.
Changing directions and comprised positions
Anticipating him inside.
Grasped waists and gratified senses.
Sticky messes and tight thrusts.
Bursting inside her.
Rolled back eyes and body convulsing climaxes.
Thirst quenched and hunger satisfied.

The rejuvenation of youth
left me when I was young.
I see only crackled, wrinkled skin
on the faces of me
and my imaginary Love;
predisposed to self-loathing,
we find solace in holding each other.
But what happens when
she's torn from my imagination
and leaves my body bent,
contorted to fit a shape
that's no longer there?

I will not be a stain
upon the pages
of your four
cornered vile

Nor do I wither
but strain to keep
perpendicular the line
so compiled

Your broadsword words
of audacity flecks
off my shield
inconspicuously

Leave your lectern
note for note
For you cannot rage
without your kickstand support

So faberge your doting dribble
Your sculpture is cracked
saturated in strychnine
and mace

Hold me up
By my throat
So I don’t end up
Kneeling on the floor
For your love

Trump was told that he
would be going on a tour
of Buckingham Pal ***
with a guide who was a friend
of Sad IQ Khan, also, dumb as
a Donkey and failed MENSA.

Even Melanoma passed that,
give us one of those Corgi's,
we will find our way round
this mound of musty masonry
which should be torn down to
make way for Trexit Museum.

Here he'll be in
my memory
forever

hanging in the water
like a hook

anchored,

his heart hit the rocks

waves washed over his
limp body

a siren of despair
and desire

whose song will travel
nowhere, now

except the bottom of
the ocean