All irrelevant in the end,
Love, life, ******.
All there is, is the prospect
Of emptiness.

"I doubt I'll ever love again."
That's what I told her that night
When she showed me out of her
House after meaningless pleasure.

...

When we said goodbye,
You smiled falsely and quickly
Showed me out. I never understood
Why we were so unhappy that night.

When we ******, I felt mediocre.
I presume that you felt similar.
The posture of your body said it all,
You were acting. No genuine emotion.

When we kissed, I felt nothing.
You felt nothing. It was meaningless,
Pleasure without substance.
Ecstasy without catharsis.

When you ripped your dress off,
A moonlight sonata played
From an old radio. You stared.
I stared. I didn't see you at all.

We ran up the stairs,
Almost kissing,
Not quite. You turned
And smiled.

Your house was large,
Almost baroque in style,
Old, neat, precise.
Artificial beauty.

We got out of the car,
We felt a giddy excitement,
Lovers. Eager to
Share a thousand moments.

The journey was almost unbearable,
Longing looks into each others eyes.
Is this love? You said. And I kissed you.
Whispered confirmation. Smiled.

You walked out of the bar
Holding my hand, you called a taxi,
We'd drank too much. You wobbled.
Are you ok? I said. You nodded.

I saw you sitting alone.
I sat next to you. Asked to buy
You a drink. You agreed. You were beautiful.
We talked for a long while afterwards

I was lost in a crowd of people.
Almost suffocating in the reality
Of others. I looked around the room,
Searching for a similar reality.