the tentacles of love

his face was flushed as heavy drinker’s sometimes are

his body befouled by the reek of booze oozing from his pores

drunk or sober, he smelled like a bathroom in a bar

the aftershave he overused only adding the odor of a urinal cake

her face was painted garishly like the aging whore she was 

until no one would pay her anymore

the implants she’d had years ago when she was firm and toned

now made her breasts twin cantaloupes rotting over stones

each settled for the other because there wasn’t another

who’d touch them no matter how long was the pole

he was father to a daughter long forgetten; she a mother

to a half a dozen bastards better off being orphans

they’d fallen for each other like they were falling in the same hole

they were deeply serious, completely mysterious, demons sharing the same soul

at night when they sweetly, sweatily screwed they proved

there is nothing blinder than endorphins

she died first, the victim of a wasting social disease

with her last foul breath she whispered to him i love you

he nodded in his taciturn way, not trusting words to his unease

then left the corridors of the hospital into a summer day that mocked his grief

with nothing left to want, and nothing left to do

he lumbered on doing the things alone he once did when they were two

often he rode the bus to the pauper’s grave where she had found relief

with sunrise the caretaker gave him a nip from his flask then told him to leave

he didn’t die, at least, he hasn’t yet

he goes on a wretched warrior no one told about the truce

he’ll never die nor will he soon forget

the tentacles of love will never let him loose