BULLSEYE.

I’ve tried an accurate finger, I’ve hit the bullseye with a tongue. I’ve heard you hiss it and how it, I’ve heard it grunted and sung. We make a joke about keeping champagne in case you cross the brink. But you laughed and said you’d fake it, just so you could have a drink. Just once. Just once. And we’ve tried getting drunk. And we’ve tried it using drugs. But it always turns out fucking useless. Always happy to settle for chats and hugs. And they were all early nights. Taking pictures of things I’ve already seen. After days dragged round the sites, I did it years ago, when I was eighteen. Just once. (Did it do the job?) Just once. (Did it do the job?) Just once. Just once.