How briefly absurd it all really is.

There's glass between us.

I wouldn't mind
some jazz and wine
and to watch you masturbate while
bathed in
moonlight.

Simple pleasures
come about simply
and such a sight would suit me
fine.

As your fingers glide
over the curves
of your instrument I
can almost taste the melody.

And when
suddenly
you begin to sing,
the notes that come,
for me,
are
magic.

I wonder what it feels like
to lie beneath your weight
to feel all of it
dead center
heavy and full
pressing down and
impenetrably dark.

I have to be honest,
I don't seem to collect sober luggage.

Every day these contemplations
appear more and more as farse
and less and less as
prose.

Glory is in the striving,
in the conquering of the self.

We all walk in darkness
but
some of us
like it
there.

Not I.

I set fire to the
world.