I made love
a few days ago
to an unattractive girl
in a Doors t shirt

at 7:30 AM
as the sun came up
over the apartment
rooftops.

The morning birds
were singing a song
that was both beautiful
ad melancholic,

to herald the occasion.
My synapses fired off
and my adrenaline said
"yes" and my heart

shrunk away shyly.
When it was over I had
a cigarette that smelled
better than she did.

She tasted like
cigarettes and red wine
and I had no choice
but to let myself in

to the colossal void
of human intimacy.
The door opened and
beckoned me

with loving fingers
and opened palms.
Her lips caressed
the flesh of my neck

and gave me chills.
She held me in her hand.
She held me in her mouth.
Guilt

overwhelmed my
ugly spirit, my ugly
face. But these are doors
that must be breached

if one is to be a man;
more importantly,
a poet.