darkfey

We Sure Can Banter

Today we talked.
Discourse only chit-chat.
I think I'm falling in love,
But I fear the burn.
That seared smell of loss.

Maybe I'm too desperate in love;
wanting pain, humility.
Blindly searching those back-alleys,
The turf of whores and gigolos,
Hoping for a Madonna or Teresa.

I just want to cling to something,
anyone who'll reassure me-
Someone to give me security,
Even if it's an illusion.
Even if it's only an evening.

I can't get this list out of my head.
My stupidity and imperfections are cataloged-
I need to stop.
I think that's why I've been searching
For Ginsberg's angry fix to my disposition.