Calling Time (Poetry)

[ For Boy George & Quentin Crisp ]

Let’s knock it on the head, my love
it’s habit not desire
these fumblings at passion’s door
are lacking that old fire

You’re not the Romeo you were
my Juliet’s a mess
and tumbling into bed once more
I feel I must confess

that time has drained away all lust
my body craves its rest
the urgent needs that governed youth
mere memories at best

Your touch is sweet as ever was
affection does not wane
but flesh grows weary, blood runs cool
joints creak beneath the strain

Let’s face it, dear — we’re past our prime
admit now, truthfully
we’re likely to enjoy far more
a good strong cup of tea

So give your lad a holiday
just give my cheek a kiss
then go and put the kettle on —
two lumps for warm, wet bliss