TOURNIQUET

Sometimes I think of those times

Before my old body dried up

And I was still drenched with you.

I know back then I was wounded,

And most likely insane,

In the old sense of dreaded sickness.

My madness manifested itself

In abandon and scorn for hope.

That world seems distant now

Until I hear bats out of hell

And electricity lightly orchestrated.

Then I cringed at the deer hunter,

As the bloody pistols cracked,

And cricket became colourful.

The football was still tougher

Than drinkers at dance venues.

There was seldom a knockback

But there were certainly some –

Always the lovers I really wanted

To stitch up the gash you fashioned.

I wrote you that long languid letter -

Pleading appeals you never answered.

And so I kept on bleeding,

Even today I wear a tourniquet.