No one belongs in my   dreams more than you,   crush my burning lips like ashes   lust is the crematorium’s encore   everyone a whore to skin and bone     At end of Brighton Pier  we shared a bottle of cheap wine  whip'lashed heads upon shoulders  like sniper bullets shrouded in Sinatra     There was no poetry...

More Than Just A Contented Man   Dear lord, I want you in the sauna, slippery salty and wet with your hair matted    and several shades darker .. Clinging to your shoulders and your back like sun shy ivy    crawling over church walls .. Dear lord, if only I could...