Fingers locked
in female hands
a riddle
like legs free of clothes
crumpled jumpers
in a corner
resembling a salad
of what-the-hell-went-on
last night greeny-reds.
Dolled up
bees' knees
next time
not a person to impress
or dazzle with a fedora
top-shelf aftershave
charcoal-black shoes
gobbling this week's wages.
Miss your mouth
completely
see if you tick
the thirty-one boxes
know nail polish
birthdays
better than second-hand
lips and teeth and tongues
and lips
stash wit in a drawer
humour under the bed.
Spot the odd one out
like finding a disease
in a bloodstream
always observe
an owl in the room
watch others hurl feelings
I miss you's about
gobbledygook
resort to stories
only your pillow knows
they want the fire
not a lonely snowman.
Written: August 2014.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time, somewhat personal. For the record, '******' is my least favourite word, and I despise it when used as an insult. This poem could be a little stronger, so edits are possible. Feedback welcome as always.