What a joy not to be touched

Memphis memories like two weeks away from the station,
pomegranate juice and filet mignon on a George Foreman grill
in the bathroom of the bed and breakfast, with the window open,
so the smoke and smell will escape and the owner / overseer might
not catch on to what were doing, though she heard the bed certainly

Property and flesh are really the same thing, the owner / overseer
must have been used to too many beds, too many eager pedestrians
wasted in the disease of the desire, we, so cognitively young, so abstract
bending a balance pole like a wasteland of paramount sheets and forsaken
understanding, just give it a few years until the flesh grows tired, and distant

Your fetish attributes took such advantage of my foolish heart that I now
cannot be touched in any capacity, no arsenic or railway ropes tied, but I have
you to thank for the happiness of the release of youth and abandoning passion,
no tribe to spend my efforts on, no coupling, no person do I come near, such joy
that you will never know, solitary – a body made for myself alone, truth transcendental