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Jul 2017
I'm a knickerlicker, I mean, my tongue's in a twist
when it's Miss Tiffany Apple I do address.
She smokes furiously, drives 100mph,
& Tiffapple's poison is Angel Sours
- tho' later I met her ex's ex, who labrished
Tiff had sunk more bottlesofvino than tide
at Waxham beach post-examresults.
But I had inkling quidnunc was green-eyed,
eclipsed
by what a wuxom bench Tiff does present
in her favorite
snugfitting
sparklestriped
jumper dress.  

So she whooped me at pool, I wasn't flush
w/ success at fuze-
ball either, Tiff wasn't impressed.
She's one of the lads & I am just a wuss.
Prollysplains why her blackcardied arm
in rebuffing imitation
of Bela Lugosi's dunt stouble
neckerchiefed her lips
when I went into smooch
that beautiful hard face.  

Silver ivy ink
on her alabaster wrists
(ivy as in '& the holly', not intravenous).
Bent over the table, she's snookilicious.
It's a tricky shot, but Tiff's a beast on the baize.
& a butcher at badminton, or so she says:
we never played.
Betja never heard
of Betjeman or Joan Hunter Dunn,
Tiff, furnished but unburnished by
Attleborough sun.  At school,
she was goth gal adorned w/
Jack Skellingtons,
& she still has a goth gal's snowwhite complexion.
Intimations of eleckissity
like that 1st frenchie at school,
but there's no fool like a 35yr old fool.

She's just a kid who thinks it's cool to be a *****,
but, baby, it's so not, not really.
Don't add to life's ***** tapestry.
She's still just a kid, just with a killer ***
- aren't they all when they're barely 20?
Well, can't say mine was,
but you catch my drift.
Still a kid who's gutted Busted split,
tho' I guess I'm still gutted Kurt had a gun
- he swore he dint!
But any kid would have a beautiful hard face
if Daddy was in denial
Mummy's mission
was drinking her remission
into submission, ******* cells back
into malignant fission.

O I am just a jessie,
but she's one of the boys
- in one sitting Tiff destroyed 7 saveloys!
& I am not Matt Willis, alas, what malice
is this? Just the usual:
she's giving me a miss.

But when the last in a lifetime
of crestfallen sighs jilts my body,
& classic rock stations of the future  
give Busted a miss
forevermore,
when Tiff is crabby & wrinkly
-  visage uglier, softer -
she will still be the hardfaced
Venus of Attleborough
in this immortal doggerel.
Form of emotional graymail,
my longrunning answer to imaginary RSVP
that another Dear John over the dog & the bone
sends to that ghoul for my selfdisgust,
who is my real muse:
sorry, Tiffany - it's me.

Tho' were Miss Tiffapple to reperuse
my rejectionprocessing paean
to her flet beauty in an aeon
- when she's crabby & wrinkly, uglier, softer,
it'd be more poignant
if Kindlescreens went crinkly
& chronologised coffeerings like jotters.
For Squadling, 2013
Lysander 'Lice' Hardy-Pearce
Written by
Lysander 'Lice' Hardy-Pearce  41/M/East Anglia, England
(41/M/East Anglia, England)   
619
   zebra
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