(They aren't equally given to the abnormal form of pleasure;
only he's completely possessed by it.)
And so he's wearing himself out, all on edge.
Then -to make things worse- he's out of work.
He manages somehow to borrow
a little here and there (sometimes almost begging for it)
and he just gets by.
He kisses those adored lips, excites himself
on that wonderful body -though he now feels
it only acquiesces. And then
he drinks and smokes, drinks and smokes;
and he drags himself to the cafes all day long,
wearily drags the sickness consuming his beauty.
Brain, work now as well as you can.
Constantine P. Cavafy