There Are No Accidents
for Murad
Disease is final. Only your dark
skin can save me now. Your hair is
taut. Your mind dissects my luxury.
We give it all we’ve got,
but your profession here beneath the
cellars of my care is fraught with
phlegm, blood, sperm of young men,
dead. I trusted you. You gave no choice.
You might deceive yourself, and yet
I thought it could be fine, this once,
to measure up, a Greek in you.
for Murad
Disease is final. Only your dark
skin can save me now. Your hair is
taut. Your mind dissects my luxury.
We give it all we’ve got,
but your profession here beneath the
cellars of my care is fraught with
phlegm, blood, sperm of young men,
dead. I trusted you. You gave no choice.
You might deceive yourself, and yet
I thought it could be fine, this once,
to measure up, a Greek in you.