End Of Park

It's intolerable now,
that I can't sleep without you here.
Pushing fingers inside
I crave the taste of you
coming thick and bitter
over my tongue, the loose slide
of your voice, face pressed down on the bed.
Could I ever be so complete
that they grey burn of your absence
wont touch me, like
five Liverpudlian ladies,
high heels and low hairdos
on the tube at Green Park?