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Is It a Sin to Love Thee? You betcha and so much the better,hotstuff, As I'm trying deeply to recall: the way you Work it is not sanctioned by any church but This Sunday saloon whose set decoration reinforces A wandering eye: the dirty windows, jar of olives, Pimentos squinting down the clientele. Not mine: I'm Blind to all but your dirty underlines, italics, Words seedy with serifs in the undergrowth of vowels, The way you drink your whisky communion, say All the wrong kind of prayers, receive the bartender's Benediction. One more dollar for the collection basket And then we'll slide out together, darling, gone Inky into the black spaces between the streetlights, Their insistent buzzing, lost homily: What darkness Has joined together, let no man sunder apart. posted by Reen |link| 0 comments |