Dotted lines prance in the middle of their beds at home.
They always seem to say the same things
while conversing on the corner of Easy Street.
"Nothing is satisfying.
Especially at home!"
Their wives don't know how to please a man.
They still remember the first day
when both came out running
and each made their first move.
The excitement of secrecy.
They position themselves inside a box-sized cubicle
and get ready to purify themselves from the chains of shame.
Morals make no barriers within the marrow of their bones;
they just flow like the core of a stumbling landslide.
And when one stands up,
perfectly pressed shirts crumbled on the floor,
burning through cigarettes like Margo Channing,
He feels fulfilled.
He's had his fix.
At least another person knows
the excitement that lies in secrecy.