By the Egyptian Gate
I wait in my penance vest
I've never been so lost before
so I can't
help myself possessed
I want to be torn through
the material of your flesh
Your
husband lies unconscious
on Samuda's precipice
I drink in the dead night air
and your
astringent kiss
She's slovenly lovely
he's a moth over opium
so long time stone
cold sober
now marked down for delirium
her perfume draws his blood out
and back to this
asylum slum
One man, one woman
walk around Newington Green
the worst case of
resemblance
in N16
I hate having to desire you
hate feeling this again
I hate
having to desire you
in common with other men
My fellow-creature-gods look out
to
be mutually blessed
this therapeutic age leaves them cold
so fashionably distressed
but
I just want to be torn through
the material of your flesh
