a single line marked in the ground
feet moving with heavy bounds
a man made mad by old limbs and bones
producing not so dulcet tones

a waste of my time and a waste of his
yet he loves the way we kissed and kissed
a broken rib with a slash of paint
felt so queezy i sometimes faint

he made the most of my time with him
how i had to answer his every whim
it only happened once in a while
oh how i hated when he let his lust compile..