01-05-2011, 12:47 PM
I am bored of love. This pointless exchange
of empty gestures, a dinner here, a weekend there,
delaying intercourse until we can be sure
that we've followed the rules, "spent time
with each other," just like the book said,
and the inane couple, grinning like kids
on the dust jacket, he with his expensive
coat, rimless glasses, and her wearing
pearls below a bob of red hair. How dull
must one be to lecture one's fellows on love?
I have never been spoiled, kissed or caressed
or told I'm "the one," and yet I see this grim future,
spread out like a road map before me. Oh if only
I could be the last of the long dead Medici,
that Florentine pig, with his fruit baskets and
chamber pots, parades of lush young men,
muscly and greased and dancing like girls
about his monstrous master bed. That glorious
faggot, he seized the day and cherished it.
Already I am bored of love, without having felt it.
of empty gestures, a dinner here, a weekend there,
delaying intercourse until we can be sure
that we've followed the rules, "spent time
with each other," just like the book said,
and the inane couple, grinning like kids
on the dust jacket, he with his expensive
coat, rimless glasses, and her wearing
pearls below a bob of red hair. How dull
must one be to lecture one's fellows on love?
I have never been spoiled, kissed or caressed
or told I'm "the one," and yet I see this grim future,
spread out like a road map before me. Oh if only
I could be the last of the long dead Medici,
that Florentine pig, with his fruit baskets and
chamber pots, parades of lush young men,
muscly and greased and dancing like girls
about his monstrous master bed. That glorious
faggot, he seized the day and cherished it.
Already I am bored of love, without having felt it.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe