I wonder why cheap wine and expensive tunes make you look so good. In candlelight, with dust and cobwebs in the air, our haunted existence glows with anticipation. How many blackouts must I endure? When I wake, you are there, your hands hovering clawlike above my throat; deep inside me you sweat out your passion like so many bats escaping the belfry of your scattered mind.
My breast wants for your offspring. My hands long for your skin. My love… my love bleeds droplets of rain upon the umbrella of your instability. And yet I keep drinking my cheap wine. For if I don’t, I may lose the illusion of the dream of you.
I hear your voice now in the distance. You call for me! On the other end of the phone you whisper, “Come get me! I’m lost here in a field of writhing bodies, of endless lust and music that promises to drive me mad!” I say, “I’m coming!” I always do, no matter the time. You awake me at 3am and yet I dress and drive and pick you up and bring you back and undress you and we climb into bed and it’s the same… it’s the same.
Goodbye before the sun comes up. “Goodbye but I’ll be back when I call you again… when I’ve had too much and need to hide inside you again.”
Cheap wine and expensive tunes. The cobwebs are here in my head along with the haunting of your existence. You will never be more than my memory.
Oh to bear your offspring, and hold it to my breast.