Once More
There is such scant chance
of any long term escape
from your rusting suffixes
now all time is in a half-light
since your last offered dance
to your half-known songs
of romance –
you unstitched their looped lyrics
in your head
Love is not found in white lines
or knocked on hotel doors
or where an hour is charged
at exorbitant fuck-me rates
as underwear is slipped down
and another breath is felt hot
through a nipple-bitten-minute
of house rule-settings
before a stiff affirmation
of your being so beautiful –
that feckless gauge of worth
which has been set
by years of dressing downs
within your three-way coven –
they fucked you up
and left you to look – still looking –
for more than them