My back is wrecked from love-making-- my lower lumbar got the double-cross; so I lie here like a corpse on a slab while she takes an innocent shower . . .
The bed is stripped to a single sheet-- which is all a dead man needs; the comforter lies crumpled on the floor, more powerful than sworn testimony.
I am both criminal & victim in the case-- failed to follow doctor's orders. Listen . . . you can hear the water hissing-- snake down her body, gurgle down the drain.
Spare me your sermon and your good intentions: Tell someone else who wants a warning that middle-age and sex don't mix; that a young girl is the devil's right hand.
As far me, I'm going with a smile on my face. Save up your tears (if you have them) & put them in a tiny bottle, & when it's filled give it to the man who never loved.
copyright 2001 Phoebe Claire Publishing, LLC All rights reserved