Atari shapes of passing headlights
slip linear shadows across this wall,
as raindrops snare the rooftops firmly.
A pin-prick watch insists on joining silence,
and torchlight floods down on my hand,
to cast this mighty pen in silhouette.
Outside my duvet savannah,
lazy Saturday, no agenda,
waits skulking in the black to pounce.
The day will come, sure as the sun,
a cappuccino in the kitchen,
signalling that we are home.
Wearing wrap-around seduction. A blindfold angel in black. Mirrors to glimpse a fine troubled prince? Dressed-up pathway to the soul ...
and ‘good evening’ you say, with your will to encapsulate a world in two simple words. you drag me to your angle, box up...
Billions slip along its bullion branches sliding towards the grasping, greedy, greasy palms, of the high/ mighty, fake empty pockets w...