My stream of consciousness runs

As the clock ticks.

The night is dark.

My heart is part dark.

I hear the TV

In the other room.

I imagine a girl’s perfume

But it is just I

Alone, unable to call.

Yet I may fall again

When I return to the capital city.

I can be witty

And I have desired pretty

Girls. I still do so,

But know

The night is cold

And I grow old

As the clock ticks the hours away.

In May

Girls dance around the pole.

I desire women and wine,

But time is short

And what I ought

To do

Is …

But to kiss

A girl’s soft lips

And for it to be meaningful

Would kill

This itch of mine

For women and wine.

Or perhaps I lie

To myself.

It is a truism

That wealth can not buy

Happiness.

Yet I

Continue to lie …