Charles Bukowski, em Eat Your Heart Out:

"she pulls her hair up and
piles it on top of her head-
she lets her eyes look at
my eyes-
then she drops her hair and
lets it fall down in front of her face.
we go to bed and I hold her
speechlessly from the back
my arm around her neck
I touch her wrists and hands
feel up to
her elbows
no further."

HIM, em Pretending:

"The glorious art of staining souls, my darling

We are not the ones to blame

(...)

Keep on pretending
It's alright
When doubts arise the game begins
The one we will never win, my baby
It always ends up in tears"