Lent

There are calls in the night,

For women and men who’ve never existed,

Not least in beds I’ve warmed,

Yet there are yearnings,

For years recovered in fleeting dreams.

In aches and ages,

Dulled by comfort and stability,

Lit screens tease and tempt,

With ways to indulge and delude,

Sense from the senses.

A good Catholic boy hedging his bets,

Testing his will and wiles,

While away the morning with hopes,

Of reason to give up and give in,

To ids and regret.

And they will be fooled,

By their ineptitude to learn,

That they are too smart to ever deceive,

Themselves that this’ll be the end,

Beginning again tomorrow night.