‘This would be a beautiful death’
Said the waiter with the lisp.
Limbs, digits and hair entwined.
Double duvet decadence
And awkward alliteration,

Runny egg, silver cutlery
and the whitest whitest bread.
         ‘The whiter the bread the sooner you’re dead...
           ...The whiter the bread the sooner you’re dead’
Regrets and thoughts of one cup meals,
Followed by the unwanted filter coffee.

The happiest hour before midday
And a bed made for dessert
That I’m happy to lay in.