I cannot be one with myself
And still be with you.
I cannot be in two places
I do not have three eyes to see from.
My third eye remains sealed,
For pain is forthcoming.
‘Five times the glory’ is the echoing phrase
I do not hear being shouted across the chasms.
I said six, not sex
And it was seven times, anyway.
And we ate and were merry
But only nine glasses were raised.
The tenth and eleventh were shattered with care
By the twelfth which belonged to a knight worth remembering.
I threw down my glass and threw up my hands,
And shouted across the table.
I shouted and cursed despite his angry face,
Made comical by thirteen years of neglect and ignorance.