He collected the dead skin
Of the students he fucked
In a male-order specimen jar,
Spooned bi female forceps.
A priori primed to seduce
Lonely nineteen year old
Fireflies, waiting for the night
To invite passengers to board
The half-past all the way.
He often dreamt of the Berlin Boy
Clandestine skin licks in Stasilands,
Snowed meditations under armed
Arched lights of Oberbaum Bridge,
Sonntagstrasse schnitzel tasted of cock
Feet turned to puddles, soaked groins,
Dialectic of love lust rain:
East met West in de Sade deluge.
He joined tattooed front of German Army.
Rough trade winds blew the letter in
Last thrill and testament to sex crime:
Dear Professor, a matter of gravest concern.
He shook the jar as an arid snow globe
Flesh flecks took flight, entombed
In glassed confine, missives secreted
In tomes of Ancient Greece & the slim
‘Nubile Aesthetics for the Modern Man.’
Lucretia in burning library leather
Tilted concrete sails toward Republic.
Scribbled post-it note upon his alphadesk:
p.s. I’d like you to like me to like you.
As fireweed splays woodlands
Postcards distend from lectured walls,
Arrival~Departure frieze of human (con)dition.
He often dreamt of the Madrid senorita
Picasso nosed, juiced lips exhaling rose
Window breath, shutters open wide.
Sprawled across sunset veranda
As strings sprung from two guitars.
In octagon mirrors of Prado café
Seven and one reflections of her beauty
To tease transcend tantalise:
In that moment,
It was not God dead
Then one day it happened:
She stopped returning his calls.
A career in ashes,
An ode to a deviant urn.