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.