Kisses on your belly and my tongue doing stuff your mother knows all about but won’t ever say. Fingers on your thighs as you lie there speaking of what hurts with no intention of making a change even though you know it’s all down to you and no one else. You can travel far and wide, and yet you can never escape your own skin. You can take as many lovers as you like, but never will they keep you as you wish to be kept. There’s autumn in your eyes and a forest in your heart. There’s a swan you call your own and a pathway to the past you try so hard to deny that just aches to walked. Penetration. A doorway made of light. A cigarette to link us as the years come undone like the ties that bind to that which we have no need of. I like to think of myself as a gentleman, but the fullness of your lips makes me do things that undermine my good intentions. I try to pass myself off as a writer but the sight of you always makes me rant and rave, and talk of magic and soul stuff soon fades until all that’s left is this animal heart. In a drunken state, I once proclaimed while going down on you that I could sense the evil eye within your real mouth. Unsurprisingly, this turned you against me, and yet what am I to do? Lie? No, it can’t be done. In you, there is the sun and devil, just the same as there is in me. In you, there are so many landscapes and versions of reality that know nothing of defeat even though you’re so quick to give up whenever things get too much. But even if we tried, there can be no way to be anyone else. Even if we were to stop spinning, the momentum of our fury would keep us moving as it has done for so many years.