Most people assumed

A solution existed:

A solution which lay

In re[pairing].

But he knew a different truth:

He slowly did begin,

In tawdry sin,

To realise that life

Had hurt him that much –

In touch’s 

Absence of delish –

That re[pairing] would

Only repeat

The tragedy now ingrained:

He was damaged with permanence

Of all ability to

Hold and


The lacy moments 

Of life’s kinder pleasures.

His state, a fate –

No destination, here.

And the journey he once

Had hoped to tread

To another lover’s bed and arms,

And alarms and tiny harms,

And lined age alongside

A kind wage,

Were now harmed way beyond

The couple

He once could have formed.


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