To the directive.
To keep a sensible, a lawful distance.
But you know how it goes, the more
I resist the more the temptation bows
like a courtesan
in the bowels of my dream.
Every night my trembling hand reaches out
for the translucent skin,
seeking the emanating heat
mere fingertips away, 
my heart racing,
my concentration supreme.

Every morning the light to make me
hear no birds on the lush green,
no children pleading for more sleep
and no cars in a hurry.

The play is in the absurd.
The sun at dawn is dimmer
than the fire at the double doors
I swore I couldn't afford.

Reaching for the remote at six
I switch away until in between 
the blur and the blink
her angelic eyes and demonic smile
beckons me closer, to the junkie
the sweet smelling fix.


jam20