In the twenty four hour embrace of a few moments sleep,
Where half a lifetime eludes dreams;
And feeling you were cheated
By too much gin and lack of sleep
In these unconsummated fumblings.
Reunions of this passion seem anomalous,
Do we feed self-interests which destroy its mutuality?
To cling together is a punishment
When coursing blood is chilled by footsteps in the hall.
Guilt’s malignancy stalks
This gas-lit shadow dance upon the walls
Where perversity commands that guilt arouse
An oestrus in the embers of our trance;
And magic moments muted in taut breath
Are crushed in weighted consequence,
Discretion flees the field to heighten senses
Steeped in self-pity, drowned In self-indulgence.
Is this trauma just a scene
In which the players claim immunity from plight
By plea of actors licence?
The effect is more abrasive than abandonment
To passion’s flight.