Sending Icebergs

I’ll get over whose in the past
when whose in the present
gets over me
and I’ll dress for a cold
terrible future

That causes nightmares
which shake my teeth from the gums
breaks the windows
and let’s the cold in.

I’ll masturbate with the fading scent
of a women’s perfume
still lain on my bed - barely
and cum
with all the dissatisfaction
of the color grey
and the thought of
another mess
to clean up.