By the Egyptian Gate

I wait in my penance vest

I've never been so lost before

so I can't help myself possessed

I want to be torn through

the material of your flesh



Your husband lies unconscious

on Samuda's precipice

I drink in the dead night air

and your astringent kiss



She's slovenly lovely

he's a moth over opium

so long time stone cold sober

now marked down for delirium

her perfume draws his blood out

and back to this asylum slum



One man, one woman

walk around Newington Green

the worst case of resemblance

in N16



I hate having to desire you

hate feeling this again

I hate having to desire you

in common with other men



My fellow-creature-gods look out

to be mutually blessed

this therapeutic age leaves them cold

so fashionably distressed

but I just want to be torn through

the material of your flesh