This morning I woke up thinking of sex
I didn't touch myself lest I be sad
as when I fantasize about an ex
I always end up dribbling an aubade
The half-hearted morn attempt in the
shower
got thwarted by my sagging embonpoint
I try to lose but more come each winter
to the point I no longer see the point
Lunch had me push the chair back for
some space
I felt tired of eating while eating
nap on the armchair, telly face-to-face
threaded clumps where my elbows were
sitting
– mug of tea and biscuit plate
tummy-topped
outside a prison, evasion daydream –
The only prospects of glee I have left
life to be seen solely at the seam
At midnight I dozed off thinking of sex
I didn't touch myself as I was sad
as I knew there would be nobody next
I'll never have the proper serenade.
