In a room muffled by books
A dozen volumes high
Dust scented and dust dry,
At his feet the lion unfurled,
As he searches for a secret passageway
To another world.
A heart carved into the bark of a tree,
A bark from my dog by the side of my knee,
The light had faded,
So too had the hope
Of the boy in the boughs
At the end of his rope.
In hindsight a little similar to Belle and Sebastian's ' we rule the school'. Not a deliberate copy -possibly subconscious. Possibly also different subject too. 29 jan 2019
She has a kind face and wears glasses with a tortoise-shell coloured rim,
And has a tortoise-shell coloured thing on her lip that could really do with a trim,
Which, when she is thinking, she flicks with the tip of her tongue,
And she says she isn't sixty years old she says she's sixty years young.
In bed she wears a laced corset of patent red leather,
That concertinas the skin on her chest where it presses her ******* together,
And even though she's three times my age, she says it isn't a barrier,
And it's not because she's very rich that I say yes when she asks me to marry her.
In Manolo Blahniks,
While her chair wears her jacket
And her fingernails play Orpheus
On a cigarette packet,
A cold goddess in stone
And in a flounce of french lace,
Gravelled footsteps don't lift
So I announce my arrival
With an unconfident cough,
Her eyes still on the sunset,
She tells me to...
Like her sister,
Has a slender, glass waist,
But she is not as green,
And lacks taste.
Both have fragile wings
And whisper things
You didn't want to know.
One day Absinthe will fly away,
Lets you go.
The BBC have a new weather girl,
Her hair is blond and her necklace... pearl,
She warns bearded fishermen about rough seas,
While I stand here with my boxers,
Around my knees.
The ward sleeps six,
Strangers wrapped in white
And strung on rubber tubes like sleeping marionettes,
And at night,
The huddle of whispers and sighs,
With flashlights for eyes,
As tender as a thief
It has Delicate fingers
And needles for teeth.