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loved i two menequally wellthough they were diff'rentas heaven and hellone was an artistone drove a truckone would make lovethe other would fuckeach treated methe way he knew bestone help me lightlyone bruised my breastand i respondedon two diff'rent levelslike children reactingto angels and devilsone was a poetwho sang and read verseone was a peasantwho drank and who cursedbefore you decidewho's cruel and who's kindlet me explainwhat i feltin my heart and my mind...the artist was tenderbut suffered from guiltmaking him sorrythe following dayand he made me feel guiltythe very same wayin his bed on the following daythe other would take meand feel no remorsehe'd wake with a smilein the bed where we layand he made me smilein the very same wayin his bed on the following daythe blow to my soulby fear and tabooscut deeper farthan a bodily bruiseand the one who was gentlehurt me much morethan the one who was roughand made love on the floor. |
