Chapter 1 - We begin in a coffeehouse
from the gallery/project "Romanticse me"
I’m staring blindly at my coffee cup, awash in hollow thoughts
Café Americano and a world weary ennui
The knitted tuque itches at my brow, but I do not take it off
A brandy-stained notebook mocks me with empty lines and empty pages
Would that the coffee could become a pint of wine
And the barrista a porter to wake me after my boredom drowns
The Green Fairy sits across me, Acedia I call her
An unshaven burlesque, in bamboo lace
The acrid smoke chokes her smile, Virginia leaf
But he passes soon away to a different lover
The sex is good, at least, and smells of sandlewood and cream
He, she, can’t recall, just the echo of penetration
They sit together, with the house champagne
They will not pray, no belief to mark nor saints to intercede
He walks with me again, companion on the streets of Paris, or maybe Prague
Prague I think, dear Bohemia, but in Paris I am all the rage they say
Soon he must rest, and leave me to my fine devices
The moon, shinning through the cracks casts shadows on my port and French fromage
The cabaret is fine, though in a tongue I do not speak
I have forgotten both my friends for the comely creature with the drinks
Pneumatic, as dear Aldous I think would say
Scott should have a better word, though I do not care to check
Greasy hair and a toothy grin, but a waist that appreciates hunger and soft hands
An unshaven burlesque, I laugh, she doesn’t hear
The Mass is dull, though the incense covers his tobacco smell
He does not take communion, says that it is of the wrong kind
The kiss is long, and soft, and sweet, but for the taste of cigarettes
I recoil into her arms again, sardonic laughter ringing in my head, my loins
Her posture is less lady-like tonight, open, inviting and warm
My hand lingers where I know that it should not, though I am terrified it cannot be recalled
Acedia, I whisper, may I have you again tonight, Always my love
No porter comes to wake me from atrocious sleep and unpleasant dreams
from the gallery/project "Romanticse me"
I’m staring blindly at my coffee cup, awash in hollow thoughts
Café Americano and a world weary ennui
The knitted tuque itches at my brow, but I do not take it off
A brandy-stained notebook mocks me with empty lines and empty pages
Would that the coffee could become a pint of wine
And the barrista a porter to wake me after my boredom drowns
The Green Fairy sits across me, Acedia I call her
An unshaven burlesque, in bamboo lace
The acrid smoke chokes her smile, Virginia leaf
But he passes soon away to a different lover
The sex is good, at least, and smells of sandlewood and cream
He, she, can’t recall, just the echo of penetration
They sit together, with the house champagne
They will not pray, no belief to mark nor saints to intercede
He walks with me again, companion on the streets of Paris, or maybe Prague
Prague I think, dear Bohemia, but in Paris I am all the rage they say
Soon he must rest, and leave me to my fine devices
The moon, shinning through the cracks casts shadows on my port and French fromage
The cabaret is fine, though in a tongue I do not speak
I have forgotten both my friends for the comely creature with the drinks
Pneumatic, as dear Aldous I think would say
Scott should have a better word, though I do not care to check
Greasy hair and a toothy grin, but a waist that appreciates hunger and soft hands
An unshaven burlesque, I laugh, she doesn’t hear
The Mass is dull, though the incense covers his tobacco smell
He does not take communion, says that it is of the wrong kind
The kiss is long, and soft, and sweet, but for the taste of cigarettes
I recoil into her arms again, sardonic laughter ringing in my head, my loins
Her posture is less lady-like tonight, open, inviting and warm
My hand lingers where I know that it should not, though I am terrified it cannot be recalled
Acedia, I whisper, may I have you again tonight, Always my love
No porter comes to wake me from atrocious sleep and unpleasant dreams
