She was fiddling in Rome
And almost fell out of bed,
And a sex concussion would have been the least
Of her worries in the face of the fire that was raging
Inside her, but she hitched herself back into position
And took up her mission again.
Though mixing drink with
Fingers at that time of night
Is going to slur any work, but after what seemed
Like a minor imperial reign she eventually came and,
Overwhelmed, fell off to sleep only to wake shaken and
Aching and tender as a tickle.
After rising and deciding
To tackle the wheel of her car
She didn’t get far before having to stop and drop
Her guts in a road side ditch, the dizzy mare should
Have taken care of business before attempting to forage,
But then she is a novice;
Booze should be left to the
Select few who can metabolize
It correctly instead of those who drag their prose
All over its supposed benefits and end up spending
The following day trying to remember exactly where
They did and didn’t get fucked.
Still I love her with all the
Might that Caesar could muster
When he blustered his way across the Rubicon and
Sealed his fate, and if I eventually fall like the empire
Fell then it will have been worth every minute of heaven
And hell that she put me through.