“My mouth is mentored by urgency;

a rapturous chalice making fast my heart,

I promise without choice, moreover a lock

than love,

wandering blind in the distance, drunk

on sentiment.

Doubting my adolescence,

I respect the placebo

if it punishes me artistically,

if it does not really punish me.”

 

She props her elbow up, tipping back the flask,

smudging the consequence, and rips her dress,

falling sluggish.

 

He breathes in the grass:

            “I am neither me nor you.

            Iseult, I have been intruded.

            My thoughts turn to cinder

            in the company of your eyes,

            and outside your heart, I am disguised

            by the lack of everything.”

 

“Is our world tonight Tristan?” She burps,

“should we compromise?”

 

Flicking his lighter, he resigns:

            “We will not exist tomorrow,

            and I fear the suicide.”

 

They unite

but tomorrow she wakes alone.

 

Her boyfriend had called her fifteen times.