Some men, cursed with a love for scarcity… If I have felt you before, and remember this taste That leads me on, and gets me up, overflowing Coffee, two rivers touching my toes, Smoking too many cigarettes, Abundance, peaking out even from The reflection of skin in the Essex turnstile, The Jersey skyline, tennis balls, dirty rivers Its you, I love! How can some men curse themselves with Such a love for scarcity that degrades? For though A depleted destitute life could bore the imagination, Never could love. Nor a 4 o’clock coffee thinking of you. Not toil, but a sexy power, so much that Steers between stones, and docks us, at the grave of love, forever sprayed with gusts of water, forever a choice to recur. Men so cursed, have they not flown into the sea? Or stood under the earth, tuning out Death’s wrath While gazing back at the baffling prize of life, Wifed, impossible to refuse.
En route, to love you.
En route, to love you.
En route, to love you.
Some men, cursed with a love for scarcity… If I have felt you before, and remember this taste That leads me on, and gets me up, overflowing Coffee, two rivers touching my toes, Smoking too many cigarettes, Abundance, peaking out even from The reflection of skin in the Essex turnstile, The Jersey skyline, tennis balls, dirty rivers Its you, I love! How can some men curse themselves with Such a love for scarcity that degrades? For though A depleted destitute life could bore the imagination, Never could love. Nor a 4 o’clock coffee thinking of you. Not toil, but a sexy power, so much that Steers between stones, and docks us, at the grave of love, forever sprayed with gusts of water, forever a choice to recur. Men so cursed, have they not flown into the sea? Or stood under the earth, tuning out Death’s wrath While gazing back at the baffling prize of life, Wifed, impossible to refuse.