"Well, I'm sober now," I said

and that was it. Goodbye?

I made a mistake, thinking of you

as something more; what you are, baby,

is a body; your eyes watch me

watch you, the scrutiny of a sculptor

Oh sweet presumption! To think of myself

as anything other than stretched canvas

Sex, the way we paint our discontent

and I can find no better brush than your fingertip

We belong in a museum, so everyone

can come and see the mess I've made