Daemontoid

There was a girl for which
he could not have,
she was golden and coastal,
Port Hermitage.
Her beauty was fading
like fall foliage
and like desperate men
without advantage.
And in the sunset
she reduced herself
to insubstantial
patronage.
Inside everyone
is a vast empty void
without self or soul
solely solemn android.
He considered this demure
anthropoid
who’d set her sights
on his equanimous daemontoid.
Did you fall in love suddenly
or one by one
till the pieces of her formed
and the heart weighed a ton?
It’s all the same—
the feeling of lust—
the growl of private life
is the only thing we trust.
It’s the rumble of a four cylinder;
it’s a brief runner’s high;
it’s the icing on the cake;
it’s a lovesick goodbye.
In his apartment he laid
pieces of himself
on grip-sock,
garter-belts
so that the lines
won’t show right though
whatever life’s supporting
just out of view.