and make my member wonder if it is real.
Does it rain on the moon? Do sandcastles fall into ruin?
Will my love put on the kettle or leave me in this dingy room?
My eyes see only turmoil that rages like an angry sea
I drink too much, I think too much. I write this stuff then weep.
My tears splosh in my beer, a salty tang I do not hanker.
My privations leave me like a shilling whore
bereft of love, craving ever more.
I will feel the rub of love, thrice this night
For a two bob bit is in my grasp, clutched greedily like a spoilt bairn.
I will spend on love not willingly given
But what the hell, fornication comes not cheap
If like me fornication comes at all.