Curse the thoughts
come creeping in
of a morning half-asleep
Vast acreage of bed
inviting speculation
on the calculus of coupling
Room enough, and more
for the one man who could know me
yet never assume he did;
For the woman who still haunts me
like a glove:
self and not-self.
Fate is cruel
to set this number on the throne
ruling head, heart and sex
some bastard trinity
unholy and divine
aflame at the apex.