you can't stop it

love gathers dust

its downhill from the end of lust

so hot she squeaked

her touch a scorch

nothing doused my flaming torch

wet mouth a snare

long limbs a web

we knew this inferno could not ebb

ugly but chic

lithe and svelte

a body that would never melt

we sit here now

old and forlorn

wishing we had never been born

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an old man upstairs has fits of coughing

women make his bed creak fit to bust

he's some sort of evangelical preacher

an expert on the perils of human lust

bones in bright sunshine or pouring rain

pressed down by limbs that rarely speak

contorted versions of my wide-open legs

I could make his bed wake up and creak

do my vows still apply after these years?

did I ...

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smiles so rare for her

not a welcoming face

fear in pale grey eyes

of warmth not a trace

appearances can fool

no semblance of fire

that beneath the skin

makes the mask a liar

stumbled into tinder

my chimney smoking

horned into bonfires

deception is stoking

inner magma outed

slow magnetic glow

mechanic love only

imagination can sow

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in a wheelchair now, she's

a shadow of her history,

crippled us with lust in

the pomp of her mystery

to out-patients in my taxi,

whispers: "is it you Fred?"

of times when I loved her

immortal, not half-dead

dropped me for a broker

always cute and naughty,

oozed sex, a Lana Turner

mercenary and haughty

begs me to take her to bed,

purely for old ...

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