Stomping from above
stealing the opportunity
to guess where she is.
Door slam.
Quick
Stomp, stomp, stomp.
Clunk, clunk,
There goes her shoes discarded across the room.
Slide, pause, slam
Slide, pause, ....
Slam- the dresser draws.
Thump! What was that?
Thump.
A jump?
Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp
Furniture
Dr-----a-------g and stop.
The creaking tiny top door of the wardrobe,
The one she can't reach without a chair!
Creak
Shunt- the top door never closes properly.
Return
Dr-----a------g.
Stamp and whump
Bed springs whinge
....then the call
"FOUND IT"
and mercifully
silence

For the lonely,
for the loveless,
for the forgotten and overlooked,
for the discarded and trodden on,
for the neglected,
for the ignored and mocked,
for societies weeds,
for circumstantial weeds.
For you outcasts are weeds
the flowers nobody wants,
but
weeds are resilient.
They persevere where others can not.
Often mistaken for weak, but no,
weeds are strong
and tough enough to break through tonnes of concrete
and metal.
Clever enough to find growth in places
others perish in.
Adaptable to every habitat and
brave enough to exist on barren wasteland.
Weeds need only the tiniest of a chance to flourish
For the unwanted,
for the unclaimed.
You are beautiful.
You are equal to every other flower.
You are the Charlock, the Buttercup, the Clover,
the Pinapple-May-**** and so much more.
Next time you see a **** by the roadside,
or peeking out from a crack in a wall,
or between paving slabs in a busy city,
or overgrown in a garden,
or weaving through rubble and debris,
take heart
lonely ones.
You are not worthless
You are magnificent.

His fingers brushed the path of her arm
From wrist to elbow to shoulder
Gradually resting at the nape of her neck

Her head lolled back
Resting its weight in his offered cupped palm
Her breath reduced to a sigh

She briefly closed her eyes
Before pulling away from his touch
And hurriedly walked off in her own direction

No words were said, no declaration,
but his outstretched hand
Spoke volumes

They were compelled to whisper
Sitting in a room softly lit by a candle's flicker
Its ambient flame was just right
For intimacy and secrecy,
For gentle movements,
Delicate promises
And honesty.

You can pour love completely
into a wine glass body
Write heart wrenching verse
pure soul poetry
but when you are beat,
dead,
done,
exhausted
weary
the lover beside you
becomes dismantled
and arranged into parts
of burden
temporarily.
Pointy elbows drilling into spine.
Rock hard knees buckling thighs.
Razor sharp toenails
scour
ankles and calf.
Sprawled limbs
invading your bed half.
Thieves of warm sheets
and cosy duvets.
Gurgling,
snorting roars
snoring,
snoring,
snoring away.
Or teeth grinding
piercing anvil,
hammer and drum.
When extremely tired
Only then your love isn't as fun
as and hour ago
when limbs, torso and flanks
eagerly woven
discarding blankets,
But that was then.
Sleep has a stronger lure
and retorting with your own elbow
or *** shunt
just can't end the snore.
Crying for snoozeville,
you can't take any more.
Suddenly,
a choked snuffle
then blessed silence
as they roll back onto their side
And you sigh, “I love you,”
But grateful for the stop
Better off with bunk beds,
one can still go on top.