Shall I compare you to a summer's day?
No, 'cause that's a bad decision on the whole
For you are neither lovely, and of temperance
don't speak, or I'll choke on raucous laughter.
You steal from me
My heart, my cigarettes, my time
(Ill spent on prying your attention)
And like a black-skinned Scorpion
You twist my breast between your pincers
You hate me when you're sober
Or, say you're not a fan of "daytime sex."
And every day, it seems like "you and I" is over
And then tomorrow, some grain
of a trash-can-smelling love,
which neither I nor you desire,
comes stumbling back,
as though a lost son, home for winter,
or an alley cat, starving
and crawling towards warmth.
You only grope me when you're drunk
You give blurry, loose affection.
It's slippery, and I can barely hold on
to its fleeting, dusky waves.
You ARE like a summer's day
For you announce your presence
with heat and dust and smoke,
and wishes for some nightlife
because it is simply too scorching in the day.
And like a summer's day
you roll on in heatwaves,
drowning all else,
blistering and scorching
like the intemperate weather
in which, like our love,
I have no choosing.