Sad Old White Guys

Better give me something to smoke
If I'm going to love you, better

Take what once was so hard to give up
Back into the blood.

The lake where we meet must include a thick
Fog, as if the night held a whole

Pack in its lungs, then slowly exhaled
For the duration of this dream.

Your wife sleeps inside, the house
Mind keeping her warm.

Soft clicks, on ... off . .. on ...
Not a ripple to disturb

Her peace. We drift further, anchored
By her faithful window—

Square of light. Does she dream of you,
As tonight I will

Not, having sated myself on lips
That taste of char

With someone whom I touched and then
Did not want.

So starved for a friend, the most sexual
Thing I can do

Is to lay in your lap the weight
Of my head.