I put lipstick on a pig and
    called her my love. She was
    queen of Somerville. I love
    willing women of beauty.

    I knew it wasn't going to go
    the distance. It was shallow.
    Not love but a siren singing,
    tempting me to a rocky shore.

    There lies our relationship
   decaying lung or two, burst
    arteries, empty heart and
    putrid once beautiful flesh.