There's a place in London,
The tourists never see.
A room containing monsters,
Kept under lock and key.

Each one is enormous,
And yet they mean no harm,
So long as we believe in them,
They keep the country calm...

Two bodies couple
For love.
It's a duvet duet.

And then they sleep...

Two bodies compete
For warmth.
It's a duvet duel.

I chose her an engagement ring,
From the aisle near pick n' mix.
She said no.
And that's a blow.
Especially when you're six.

There's an island paradise,
Lined with English trees,
Fountains splash into the air,
Bushes hum with bees.

Children play upon the grass,
Ducks join in their game,
And there upon a wooden bench,
Are two dates and a name.

I don't know your story,
Or why you passed away,
I'm just sad you had to go,
Before your thirteenth day.

The test is a precaution
The doctor thinks it wise.
Is there something that he knows?
I try to read his eyes.

Fourteen days of agony,
The world's not like before,
Things that used to bother me
Don't matter any more.

I think of what might happen.
Could I be near the end?
Don't want to scare my loved ones,
And so I just pretend.

Now the fateful time has come,
The call is very brief,
My test results are negative.
I shed tears of relief.

I knew I had to do it
I knew I had to call her
And ask her out.

But I was nervous

And so
To calm myself down
And buld myself up
I went to the fridge
And got myself a beer.


I'm not usually a big drinker
But I gulped it down
Quickly
And it did the trick.

Suddenly
I felt as if I could do anything
And so I picked up the phone
And dialled.

It rang
She answered
And then
My words
All the ones I'd wanted to say
For so long
Just tumbled out.


I'd done it!
I'd actually, finally done it!

But

...She said no.

I'm still not sure why.

Was it my eagerness?
Was it my frankness?

Or,
Could it possibly have been
My hiccups?

She came from a tropical island,
Dark skin and darker hair.
In my head, she was Jeanne Duval,
And I was Baudelaire.

I wrote her poetry every day,
To less than rave reviews,
"It's really not my kinda ting",
Apologised my muse.

Suffice to say, it didn't last,
Though it lasted for a time.
And I burned that final sonnet,
That I couldn't get to rhyme.