Michael Jones - Cough

My fetish is intimate
(I'm a romantic pervert)

Wet flowers towering
We rode elevators
When we met.

It looked like tonight
that morning. Sloppy
sidestreets, city cough.

Our coffin of course often
costs the cause it's ideal
clause and counts a loss.

When I put down my pen
your name in the book
I turn my head, scratch my

nose, get into bed in my
clothes. Without you, I,
*cough*, am a trough

without water.

Michael Jones

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cough-2/