The Ghosts of Love & Masturbation

 
Life breathes  
shorter tonight  
as Death leans  
closer to the fire  
secretly fingering her pussy  
with one eye on your cock  
patient as bones  
 
God made wine  
so that dreams  
might dissolve into wishfulness  
while the desert ache of years  
conspires with moonlight  
licking shadows to gush out stars  
as if the whores of heaven  
had always moaned  
chateau 69  
   
Even the lure  
of your favorite flimsies  
that most potent shrine  
ripped eager from paradise limbs  
fade to the grayest muse  
sticky fingers sucked  
still burn  
but the giddy taste of pink  
no more than sparks  
vanquished blue black  
back to the darkest womb  
 
A million actors wait  
to groan the shit out of empty  
trapping lust in the blindest alley  
hornier than warts on a natterjack  
craving bare dollar rain  
from your credit card  
before they'll sink their teeth  
in the ass of your screen  
 
So where are the ghosts  
if the first time  
and the last time we fucked  
float like homeless spirits  
returning helpless to dust  
to join the last short sweepings  
from a dive full of hope  
lost out on Savannah wilds  
only flesh re-plundered  
for a can of beans  
 
Out of a thousand dirty weekends    
only the shortest softest grunt  
marries the wind  
to a squirm of hope