methadone

I’ve lost my lust.
There is no drive
to move strangers
into friends
into lovers.
I’m more than happy
to sit at home,
drinking still,
ignoring the rituals
men use
to allow themselves to think
they’re fooling women
Into touching dicks,
that given time and opportunity
they’d probably touch anyway.
You don’t need a sales pitch
To feed the hungry.
We’re all a starving bunch,
Willing to take a fuck over love,
Junkies all, praying
the methadone sate heroin’s cravings,
Telling ourselves
the next time is last.
The telephone rings,
I hear her voice,
my cock stiffens,
and this poem is over.