‘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.