Too Clever By Half

     For God's sake you've ever seen a woman so cock-shy (I bet you haven't); so selfish and insistant on nothing so long as the nothings are warm and maybe whispered but from behind, and picky as hell, and still slightly bored even as some dumb lips are doing some traversal, and a yawn and stretch in blackness, and still. And the next night, even though so trumped as in a bar with thin long boys dangling themselves over companions, still perversely affected by said tired conflictions, and skin sore and bone weak and life torn, and not the same as what once was. And tired of tales. Depending too awesome on a reputation chalked to stalls will kill you if you let it, because they don't believe it and will always strain for more so, will flatter flatter gusto with wandering hands, will carve and suckle lie-some tags on skin swept walls, those stupid young hands, those idle softened hands, those stupid staying feet. So curve away those lips too gracely at me in black, and get yourself away to whatever dark night you came out of to be bored and lapse around in circles in my sleepy circuit, to involve yourself in the late night ennui of we, claim your claims (button your pants, I say). God knows my mumbled virtue, God forgive those teases yet.