he had
been a
pretty
thing.
i got my
own to
keep and
he’s got
his own.
we ain’t
got no love
to make.
when can
we learn to
live without
touching?
he had
been a
pretty
thing.
we crawled
in the back
seat of my
car and i
pulled mine
out first.
i came
on his
ass and
was proud
for it.
i know he
won’t need
me again.
i got my
own to
keep and
he’s got
his;
we gather it
together
under a
dying
sun.