Break some bread
The night’s been blessed with a neverendingness
But nonetheless...
End come too soon.

Sweet concubine,
The night’s divine
In a neverending line of lovers...
End come too soon.

On the cusp,
The both of us without any maybes, but musts
That carry us
To the end too soon.

Ink begins to blot
My eyes are bloodshot
They’ve seen things they wish they had not,
But it won’t stop
The end coming too soon.


Whose butter-fingers read me like Braille?
Whose dirty mouth would have made Mary hail?
Whose wholesome heart had bogged down on me?
Who ushers dreamers into such harems?
Whose skin looked waxen in the failing light?
Who downright danced me like a sailing kite?