You keep yourself disguised in such grey suits:
a tie, a jacket, trousers also grey,
and look like all those men, important. May
your legs find mine, released of my red boots.
The daily dirt is staying in your hair,
you smell of sweat and travelling by train
and on your collar I can see a stain
that won’t be gone tomorrow. We don’t care.
Your mind is still elsewhere when we make love,
but slowly, by the time the night is gone,
my stroking hands and kisses might have won.
You close your eyes and I know it’s enough.
Whenever these fine moments are no more,
it will be on the day that we shall split,
and business won’t be like it was before.