anne clark
armchair theatre
This house is full of loneliness Of sad weary silence I switch on the television For some company Two actors A man and a Woman Give exaggerated little moans As they simulate A so called stimulating fuck For my entertainment Beneath the endless groans It's not real It's pretend Just like we pretended that last time To make you Night is the most difficult part off all I don't need this This vile, crude reminder Of how we play out our roles Without any script at all