Lotus Eater
He falls in love to fall out of it,
Like a stunt double bent on suicide.
He falls to forget, like a lotus eater.
He fancies himself befitting
A Jaguar convertible.
But behind the wheel, he drives in circles.
Satie’s Gnossiennes play on the gramophone
The tumbler of room temperature absinthe, ignored.
He removes his dressing gown, climbs into bed.
Naked, under the falling stars,
Her curves flow beneath his hands.
Without his muse, what does he have left?
Absolutely nothing.
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