Baked-bean eyes in a head of skin,
Rumours fly as to where he's been,
Rolling over like a dying whale,
He blows his load like a sudden gale.

He moves so well that you hope he stays,
But he leaves you empty as the darkness plays
A game of shadows on your sleeping face,
Outside the snow is falling all around his place.

Exhausting trials of endless speculation
Conjours up a new line of permutations.
Cancerous musings help complete the picture,
I'll die from thinking, surely not from smoking,
To fill my lungs would be a stricture,
But my mind has no limits -- I wish I was joking.

He's elegant -- in a stupid kind of way.
Never speaks -- he has nothing to say.
Calls you 'kid' -- on Monday.
Is your lover by Tuesday,
Bangs another on Wednesday,
And he's only halfway through the week.

Where does that
Where does that leave
Where does that leave you?

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