I fell before your rotten smile,
Rich with lust and iced with guile.
You had me bruised, bare-arsed and small,
In thrall to that disease that you call love
In time we found a little space,
To play at home, where we saved face.
I couldn’t stand the kindnesses,
You let fall from your lips in lieu of love.
Now what an autumn noise we make -
Shedding clothes for history’s sake.
The hierogplyphs we shift between,
Are scrawled upon the ruins of our love.