according to science
eroticism blooms and dies
in two years

your nerves exhausted
your loved one's face worn out
and then you need a new
pair of blue eyes
to call up from the phonebooth's 
night light and drag
through the bushes
quick before his blinkers fade
into old potatoes

and in the meantime of course
you've vanished to your friends
and hailing strangers suddenly
you note your own transparent hands