you’re tall
and of course
Adams apple is something
I’m prepared to overlook
we have not yet reached
the ungodly hour
thank heaven
ill cross the five o’clock shadow (AM)
when I go there
ill have to be a man ,to turn a blind eye
unless you carry a pocket razor of course
depends how good you are darling
and from where I’m stood
close up
its good enough
I feel the stirring
I want your skin.
to scratch the curious itch in many men
wanting more, as we often do
women for pussies
you know we love novelties
we love ourselves
should have us that rib removed at birth
never mind circumcision, what on earth
was that about
I digress, my apologies
back to the rib
sure, the rib and bib we are messy buggers
sucking on ourselves now arent we

I did 20 yrs mate
20 yrs of a lie
sure I got it up, inserted it
but my feelings never got that boost
must come from being a caveman
or crowing the cockerels cocky roost
from a hilltop
men are number one
killing everything aren't we?
what say you
staring at my rant
my hand on your sport-esque derrière
you work out
tone up
not like her indoors
sloppy rut, pant,sloth these days
are those jugs real
could I have a shy feel
how you temper me
how blood reaches that extra expansion
the vessel like the launch pad
of an adolescents regular stiff outing
over nude magazines after school
looking for privacy in which to pollute tissue
yea, I remember that
funny I can connect the feeling with love
sometimes
and it makes me feel almost a whole like
you filled the missing gap
and that
exploring you is nothing to be ashamed of
that hurdle I disposed of
mid thirties
when I joined the entourage
of hairy truckers
hiding from the wives
in the tranny bar shit holes
why they build them with seeds
and they sprout bubble-gum
and weed in the carpet
for the charade and show of people like you
are you are whore then?
is it too good to be true you spent 15 minutes
listening to my life story?
I build aircraft for British aerospace, Warton division you know.

“oh", it goes.

and taps it toes
I rename ‘it’ her
crumbs! I have been programmed
sorry love I say. I apologise internally,
she has no idea,
nor should she
dark loud and crowded
bits of neon on her ear
a silver hoop catching
endless loops of spinning lamps
gobos on the dance floor
summoned courage, took her hand
weighs more than Saturn
and the arm moves reluctantly
to my hip
can I make it any clearer?
I want your skin
what does she think the last 16 minutes was really about?
is this a courtroom or not?
She looked ahead, I wondered if the night-club had an horizon
an event which I was blind, I looked for it
all I could find was the lights for the ladies loos, emergency exit
she disengaged, like a coupling of an express train
mechanically her fingers eject my palm
it didn’t work
her arm brook free
she left me
for the loos it seems
tossing up her hair
like spaghetti in a colander
swishing her cute little denim clad
mini skirted ass all the way, toosh!, go girl!, bitch!
like Nureyev kicked out a perfect leg
in a hip like sway, the girlie loos door
opened and the florescent cruel light
poured out
she became a silhouette
Venetian, blinds to the pain,
engraved her name
then disappeared.