the death of a ladies man.

If unrequited love exists then

mutual love is obsolete

and she’ll always be at least as

close to me as early morning eyelash

flirting comma without skirting

but with legs covering my belly and neck

and her lips covering mine and my cock.

But of course she’s an ethereal myth

buried in a job and a family and a belief

that we won’t part.

Even with the two dead kids

sat in abortion cribs,

cryin’ ’cause we always use condoms.

And when I wake up next to

and on her I roll over and kiss

her beautiful forehead, thinking

‘thank fuck for love,

otherwise we’d be married’.

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