there in the hollow of my back. The kiss
left me so taut. I need to take a piss
but still I throb. Of course I will forget
all details of the woman in my dream.
I know what she was like – they're all the same
too young crazy or beautiful. Their name
may vary – not the way their hair would gleam
seen on a pillow. Women who are real
quite as impossible. Love's the mistake
that makes us fools, the hard thing that we break
our sense of self upon. I want to feel
that gorgeous pain, yet most affairs I've had
balanced delight with going almost mad.