He hates me, he loves me not.
He was my lover, dead now
but I can visualize his hands
stroke, touch - that reach -
how gaping holes swallow his projections
I know that you were there with
me when lust took us back to bed
I felt the flood inside - murderer -
drowning children we'll never have
and my eyes were blue when I looked
up at you - oh, your hands, gripping
the headboard, overlooking me, then
you were Samson without hair, and
for you, (my love), I was the whore.
I would have cut your hair to save my people
--- but you have no hair and I have no people.
- adp, 30 November 2005