We were up late. Our keyboards nearly burned
from all the jokes and bitching, even verse,
My head hurt. It's as if I somehow earned
Pain you'd expect from wine from wit. The worse
I feel, the better time I know I had -
I wanted more. Why can't it be the same
when we're together? Would it be so bad?
Why is our conversation always tame
the nights we're fucking? Lying in your bed,
legs wrapped around each other, pretty boy,
this simple verse is beating in my head.
We mustn't want too much. It might annoy
The goddess Nemesis. that horrid bitch.
She keeps us poor in love, who could be rich.