Fallen

He thinks that he is falling

He tells me on a rusty bench

As we sit dripping drenched

In autumn rain

He says he thinks he's fallen

I'm staring at a dampened nail

Contorted by the hail

And chicken stained

Suspended in the shower

I watch his sentence cower

In the shadows of my mind

My ears are blind

He tells me that he's fallen

My fingertips are turning blue

I see him leave through

The drizzled pane

He almost says he's falling

I'm gazing at an ailing fly

And I watch it slowly die

With no suprise

He does not says he's fallen

I'm rigid as a frozen queen

His eager hands between

My weary thighs

I taste his wet desire

My mouth is stale and drier

As the housefly toils until

It's winter still

There's no more talk of falling

Those dusky words are now taboo

There's no more iv'e fallen too

Left in my eyes