The journal of Paul M. Watson.

Saturday, December 03, 2005

A moan in the dark

A moan splits the dark
I'm alone, white shoes the only light
Rasping caress on neoprene warmth
My hands stuck deep, back home I'd be dead
Her lust is taunting
She doesn't know where I am coming from
A park is her parlour, my loneliness a target
I'd be slashed and torn, wallet gone
Her boy a ploy, drink drives the uncaring walk
I desire to turn but then I'd be bled
She leaves me be
I walk into the light
A park so dark, survived

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