At midnight I’m poultry
As white as the sheets
And the pillows that match,
I’ve no courage beneath
These feathers I’ve sprouted
At a single soft touch,
And her movements have made me
Start thinking too much.
Are these fingers or feathers
That trace her soft skin?
Am I human or bird,
And when’d this begin?
As she took me inside,
Or the time I first called?
Was it when I realized
That she was enthralled?
Perhaps if I hadn’t
Began with my games
I wouldn’t have had
**** luck with these dames.
It’s one thing to play
A game with no rules;
It’s another one to
Play the game as blind fools.