Worn and torn love
Written on 8 April 1985

(For Angela. A lost and confused young lady.
I tries to pick her up and show her life was OK.
I hope she found peace?)

She never allowed me to understand her pain.
Pretending to be someone else.

Acting out parts like a woman in a cheap porno movie.

I’m sorry if she were abused.
Unable to untangle the disorder in her
heart and mind.

My life wasn’t always so organized and demented.

Finding joy and pleasure in the consumption and
digesting of new young woman flesh.

Her brown eyes.
Looks into my eyes.
Tries to find one reason to stay.

I wrote a simple poem for her.

“Sweet Angela
So beautiful.
You are cut so deep.
So young.
Unable to run
from yesterday.
Stay with me.
Awake in the
morning with me.

Maybe we will find
a  reason to be alive.”

She stand up.
Slowly undressed for me.
I’m infatuated with her beautiful and young body.

She danced in circles.
Told me.
“I wanted to be a dancer.
I wanted to be a singer.
I wanted to be loved forever.”

She fell upon my bed.
I brought her close.
Whisper.
“The flesh is more hungry then the
desire to know love.”

In the morning.
We walks on the Seaside beach.

We sat together drinking coffee at the cafe.
The quiet of the Seaside beach.
Leave us thinking.

We went  and sat upon the sandy beach.
She began to write my name in the sand.
She showed me my name surrounded by a heart.
Wrapped her arms around me.
Whispers “thank you.”

She told me.
“I’m twenty years old.
Disease and cold hearten.
Why do you spend time with me?”

I smiled.
Kiss her sweet lips.
Brought her closer.

I told my beautiful Angela.
“Love is not a secure bet.”

“Gift of the flesh is easy.
Satisfying of the body is easily done.”

“Love takes at least a lifetime.”

Coyote
8 April 1985