I went home last night.
Bought some *****,
and brought another man
I met in the pub.

He was so unlike you,
you who opened all doors.
He was scrubby
and rather rude.

We lit the cigar,
inhaled the smoke,
exchanged lies,
got high.

As expected,
we had ***.
That kissing
and fondling

and all those things
I need not elaborate
for the exhausted bedsheet,
and propped pillows

And crippled blankets
all looked at me,
accusingly,
asking where you were.