the possibility of
betrayal is just
down the hall
it stumbles across
your beliefs like
someone’s dead
clothes on
the road.
just as the bull
believes in his
charge
and
we obey the signal
light guiding us
left,
sometimes you are so
filled with love that
you think it will
never end
and it can make
all the long
nights sing.
I remember her painted toe
nails and feet hanging in
front of the warm radiator
but at 4am when you
can see where the
whores have squatted
for a piss in the
back streets
love can run away and
no matter how long it
lasts great things
always end and
therein lies
some of
their
appeal.