She sits curled up before the fire, considering the future and crying at
The torn-paper memories lying in the grate.
She was never wrong and yet never seemed to win.
She is sure the answer lies in the beckoning flames,
Which conjure up the photographic images like lost souls.
He sits alone in his room, an image of a woman filling his head, and
Flooding his groin with inflamed lust.
He cannot stop it once it's started,
As the stained bedsheets testify.
He is in agony.
She sits alone in a darkened cinema, watching the images that drive her
Into a wet-fingered frenzy of urgent need.
She tries to stop it,
But it's too late for her now.
She is in ecstasy.
Waking together in an unknown room, they do not understand what has brought them both here –
They share a look of blank incomprehension.
They are alone, they are together;
They are strangers, and best of friends;
They are nothing, and yet everything;
They are the lost, and the redeemed.
They are only human.
[26th September 1993]
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