I do not leave when Margo chants she was a rattlesnake in another life.
      
                                something held me back.

                                that something is desire.

I do not scream, running into the night when Margo sits on her father’s lap talking baby talk.

                              something held me back

                               that something is desire.

I do not bid adieu when I see “Men Who Can’t Love” on Margo’s bookshelf.

                            something held me back

                            that something is desire.

                             I am a weak man.

Margot has beautiful long legs that can touch her occult ass                             
                                               
there is no limit to problems I can ignore in a pretty woman.

                           soon I don’t recognize myself.

I am becoming the kind of pathetic man who food shops with a woman

and yells with delight when he finds yogurt on sale, or

goes to the ballet instead of meeting friends at the pub.

 
what a wretch Margot is creating on her artist’s pallet.

what a stinking piece of maggot flesh she features in her theatre of cruelty.

but just in time

Margot defends the invasion of Iraq.

                           
I feel sick beyond belief.

but it frees me from Margot.

there is no limit to the problems I ignore in beautiful women.

but I am not totally depraved.