the word is contagious

and the angels tell me again

i ain’t had much loving,

where the gates of commitment

gather up the brokenness.

it’s not because i’m old,

but i’m slowing down the tune,

where there may be wine and roses,

at least for a little while.

the games of luck,

some call fate,

where words of words

written on my heart

become sensual illusions.

my flesh undone

looking for traces and hints

in the money run

with my fingerprints.