I rest with you sweet man, We count past lovers under the sheets Its Early, 5.30 We have still, non ******* *** We turn together as in a tunnel. You have had more women Than I have men It irks me like My gambling Grandfather Who robbed me of paper mills, And wealth
Strangers to me You friends arrive I am weary of my childish awkwardness with people unfamiliar Of my pain at silence and the repercussive shame. The question What do you do? In the successful circle I want a paper mill Or to a least have had more lovers than you.