Bring me a rose

My adulterous portal I wear
In dark corridors I wander in soul
Carry each in this weight
To knock on doors
I find grown children
And recognise my adolescence
It bears no evil
My marked flesh cannot diffuse 

The morning breaks in showers I guess

In silent foothills stands the man of my conscious, my pace is unmarked and clumsy, frozen I struggle with indecision.

I am told of the libido inhibiting effects of the pill and in thin white lace, behind flickering, semi conscious eye lids, I undress.

As I hear no words I remain as uncomfort, I struggle to focus on reality, my mind drifts to unconscious sex and I am aware that I am crude and with parts.  A constant demand to rebuke myself is part of this contesting pace, set within these frameworks of desire and submission, of control and excess.  I acknowledge my own revulsion and do not explore further.

Upon reflection I glance behind me, and watch man stride confidently across foothills as i remain forever captivated at the dancing waves on rock edge below.

Life had become unbearable

I cannot finish a thing and revel in it.
My life is without fridge; and solitude.
Even this verse I write backwards
With chipping interludes I bring it back to the first
My desire to quit goes disravished into the bar below
As i listen to the prostitutes down gunthorpe Street
And watch crack dealers score
The fruits of our labour are punishable by death
But I finish a packet of ginger nuts in two sittings
By the light of my window pane
pane