The Row

After the whisky and recriminations
(carelessly saved for long nights like these)
by the tongues of a fire stoked up to roaring
you talk of the causes of unease -
in your metaphysical longing, seek
an unassailable system to show
that you are irrefutably right, for you know
that all you do is invariably good.

I, in my silence, wait for simpler things:
the shock of your sex on my mouth
and the confluence of limbs.

© John Mackie, May 29th 2006