Eyes that search the dark,
And hands that try to grasp.
Until they hit their mark.
And another's palm they clasp.
Lips that taste so sweet,
But at the same time oh so bitter.
Laying dormant on a ***** sheet.
Clothes, portrayed as litter.
As the son rises and shakes his weary head.
She stirs only for a while.
Without hesitation, he quickly leaves the bed.