…And all you wanted more than life

was to say you had slept with Jim Morrison,

it didn’t matter where or how, you just wanted that infamy,

the fame and glory, the smile of pleasure

the ring of tears when the camera pointed at you dressed in black

at the poet’s graveside, grieving but with a story to tell…

lots of stories to tell and not all of them yours to share.

You brushed hair in a certain style before I came round

knocking on the red wooden door, the only thing that