Candle in the Wind
Male glow-worms, attracted by the light of
candles, come into the parlour
- Gilbert White - 1791
You cuddle in your city sprawl but I get no sex at all
Alone, I glow, outshone by avenues of sodium
I wag my luminary tail, supposed to interest the male
Blighter couldn’t see me now, if I adopted neon-power
He has wings, the hard case, burns up the marketplace
seeking the spot, right? (Or arc or flood or other light)
wasting sexual tensions on Edison’s inventions
On one of these high voltage dates, he simply incinerates
So I make, frustrated, for somewhere under-luminated
Is even this deep railway cutting dark enough for rutting?
I adopt a stationary glow and smell him near, a slow
fuse burning, great searchlight turning, turning
turning toad, or is it weasel? Neither, neither, it’s a deisel
eight-o-three, eight-o-three, Waterloo to Coventry
Virgin carriage, lights ablaze, takes my lover far away
I dream of pitch. I dream of night. I scream. I itch.
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