With expectancy does my belly ache,
A not too pleasant knot eased only by daybreak,
For tomorrow’s child is today’s heartache,
But I’ll never stop loving you.
With expectancy does my belly ache,
A not too pleasant knot eased only by daybreak,
For tomorrow’s child is today’s heartache,
But I’ll never stop loving you.
Smokey bacon, cumberland,
Porco due, oh far from bland,
M’eyes bigger than m’pork belly, belly bigger than my ‘ands,
You’re smokey bacon, girl, and I’m Sir Cumberland!
Oink!
Keep your eyes peeled for Canterbury bells,
In purple whirlpools that’s where she dwells,
With kisses as light as feathered tails,
She’s all I could ever want.
So loyal is she to the springtime breeze,
That I’ll never part from her basal leaves,
Ensconced in sconces I wish to seize,
She’s all I could ever want.
With redolent breath she whispers to me,
“Six more days, my love, and we’ll be as close as can be”,
And I’ll wait for the chimes to end this misery,
For Canterbury bells are not just what I want,
But all I ever need.
(and more, and more, and more…)
Panna cotta, parson’s green,
In envious sleep come envious dreams,
For jealousy comes in gelatinous screams,
Cursedly stealing my mind.
Pink peppercorn, ham hock terrine,
Viscidity spoils these teeth so clean,
But savoury hearts deserve the sweetest of creams,
When bitterness returns back home.
Strawberry, blackberry, take your pick,
And despite too much jelly I’ll never be sick,
Of this tutti frutti arithmetic,
Which makes my heart soften with joy.
Ninnina mia.
Behind black sapphire blankets I dream of romance,
Around stricken matches Luna Moths do dance,
And I’ll pretend that this is all happenstance,
When I wantonly want only you.
Across amazonite ponds I’ll give in to chance,
Faced with beauty so blinding I’ll dare to glance,
And pretend that this is all happenstance,
When I wantonly want only you.
Beyond beryl is her countenance,
From great green gestures to hypnotic trance,
To pretend that this is all happenstance,
Is absurd, my love, and I hope you don’t mind,
That I wantonly
Want only
You.
Ultra-violet cannonball,
Ultraviolent aerosol,
One smacker which smacks of ethanol,
Does discourage me from sleep.
Ultramarine turns to gold,
Submachine gun light to hold,
Two smackers which smack of ethanol,
Do discourage me from sleep.
Ultrasonic melodies,
Gin and tonic-fuelled elegies,
Three smackers which smack of all of these
Do discourage me,
Of all people would you believe,
From the sleep I so desperately need.
p.s. in actual fact, all I desperately need is you.
I want to be that man who with a
Word can shave miles from your
Frown,
To easily ease the unease,
Fermenting like gone off milk in her fraught
Forehead.
For I want to be that man who with a
Whisper can save the almond blossom
From the ruthless rain,
And easily ease the unease,
Brewing like an Atlantic storm in her melancholy
Mind.
Mind you, I want to be that man who with a
Smile can stave off the barbed tail of the
Wyvern,
And I’ll easily ease the unease
Forever melting like snow in my doting
Hands.
Eeeepapeepapeee!
Shapeshifter, middle-lane drifter,
How this Blu-tack brain of mine sure does miss her,
Her eyes, her ears, her nose…
While my head is busied with thoughts like
Railway replacement buses,
Overwhelmed with weary commuters,
Daily disputers,
Husks of humanness…
How unfair is the funfair when the fun is so far
Away.
But still I won’t give up!
(Oh no!)
And cherry-pick the moments which mean the most to
Me,
Of holding your sweet face in my hands again,
With as much love as Daphne odora does hang on to her
Flowering faces,
For though the faraway funfair is so frightfully unfair,
My mind is an endless carousel and every
Horse I ride is you.
What madness are these
Midday moments of misery?
When my ears go deaf from the sound of
Faceless tears
Sent back in time from foreign fields and
Familiar mouths I long to
Kiss.
What madness are these
Midday moments of melancholy?
When lonely yowls do make me feel as blue as
Monsieur Majorelle’s fingertips,
Held against pneumonic lips,
Which match the colour of my toes
(Dammelooo!)
What madness are these
Midday moments of malaise?
When anxious nails scratch at these itchy feet,
As the phantom chilblains burn more fiercely than
Jaipurian suns,
How I long to
Kiss
You
Goodnight.