Nothing to Fear
All fixed: early arrival at the flat
Lent by a friend, whose note says Lucky sod;
Drinks on the tray, the cover-story pat
And quite uncheckable; her husband off
Somewhere with all the kids till six o'clock
(Which ought to be quite long enough);
And all worth while: face really beautiful,
Good legs and hips, and as for breasts - my God.
What about guilt, compunction and such stuff?
I've had my fill of all that cock;
It'll wear off as usual.
Yes, all fixed. Then why this slight trembling;
Dry mouth, quick pulse rate, sweaty hands,
As though she were the first? No, not impatience,
Nor fear of failure, thank you, Jack.
Beauty, they tell me is a dangerous thing,
Whose touch will burn, but I'm asbestos, see?
All worth while - it's a dead coincidence
That sitting here, a bag of glands
Turned up to concert pitch, I seem to sense
A different style of caller at my back,
As cold as ice, but just as set on me.
http://www.drunkard.com/issues/08_05/0805_kingsley.htm
