There is a love of men men do not know
Who talk of love and taste upon their tongue
hot salty seed. I knew such love when young,
thought it an appetiser, that would go
with red wine, warm champagne. Such love must fade.
There is a love, seen through a whisky glass,
dim in a bar, that lips or puckered arse
cannot compare with. Love that was delayed.
We talk of writers, go home to our wives.
Argue in public, though with speaking looks
that reassure. Praise in each other's books
Such love is durable, drunk in, through lives
as hair thins and lines grow upon smooth skin.
Love that's respectable, no hint of sin.