butterflies! schmetterlinge! in the stomach!
  im magen!

how she became revealing...
when Eunice came...
i walked out to buy a newspaper...
i had to sober up...
top up my oyster card...
drink two bottles of cider...
admire the winds...
i whole lot of them congregated...
i counted about seven...
at one point the music
coming from my earphones
was silenced... by a howling...
at one point i had to stand in position
and get blasted with the gusts...
the winds howled...

das ist mein wein!
this is my wine!
das ist mein blut
this is my blood!

glücklich sind die
happy are those...
wer kommt
who come...
zu meinem Abendessen
to my, supper!

well... i'm pretty sure the tax-collector
that St. Matthew was the man who
managed to secure a cosmopolitan messiah
movement of Christianity...
who bought the wine? the bread?
for the last supper?
did anyone make the wine?
if i were there... i'd be the one disciple
with some vines in my garden...
and we'd be drinking homemade wine...
somewhat cloudy...
but still ******* intoxicating...

i drank a litre of my homemade wine...
i figured... if i'm been standing ironing
my own three white shirts
and my father's shirts from a two week holiday,
i'lm going to treat myself...

i'm still waking up at 6am tomorrow morning:
it's still a tomorrow from the time i'm
writing...

i'll be wearing the Eternity cologne tomorrow...
not the 1884 sickly sweet...
i can see why women are competing...
back-stabbing each other...
my mother was just watching
Mean Girls today while i was ironing
the shirts... i made myself two sandwiches...
one brown bun with a brie cheese
and some  jalapeño jam...
another... a white bun with some tomato
infused pate... with pickles... no mustard...

the two storms raged these mythical isles...
i texted her: will i see you tomorrow?
she replied... oh... because of my anxiety...
i don't know... the trains are not working...
so i plotted out her the same route i would
be taking... i'm leaving the house at almost 7am...
i'll get up at six... eat one of those pre-prepared
sandwiches... drink a coffee... smoke a cigarette...
shower... pamper myself...

you're game? my anxiety! you anxiety?!
what about my "schizophrenia"?!
who the hell makes that Eternity perfume?
it's nice... i'll chew on extra gum while
i take the alternative route to Stratford via
the 86 bus... i could have left the house at least
1 hour later... but then again:
i like to be early... have a look around...
buy a cheap coffee...
***** the locals...

              oh i know she's not anxious about
the storms that currently hit these shores...
i know she's anxious about seeing me...
you can't somehow slander someone
and somehow get away with it...
           while i pushed her with the banana loaf i made and
the homemade wine...
like i said... she's not getting away that easy...
i'll just add to her anxiety...
i'll make her claustrophobic...
i'll put a ******* leash on her if i have it...
after all... she looks like...
an older version of Lindsay Lohan...
come on... no one is going to simply pass that by...
without having some sort of investment...

yeah, chances are... tomorrow's fixture is a Saturday...
i might just be stinking of *****...
but the allowed 15 minute break?
i won't ******* to smoke a cigarette...
i'm going to watch the match... making myself
look menacing... bat-like...

she was never going to be anxious about the storms...
i sent her some links to German folk music
that's been around for over 10 years...
no... she's not going anywhere...
i'm not going anywhere...
i already have what i want...
now i need to add what more i want...
she appreciated me leaving her flowers
on her doorstep in the middle of the night...
what, girl, wouldn't?!

       i'm gone, far gone, i'm not coming back...
not with a face like that...
thank god i've been to the other 2Ps...
no priest... who even cares about the psychiatrists?!
i went to the prostitutes...
well... then... am i really capable of love?
so... it's not, really, that, complicated?!
well then! here goes!

see... when you can refrain from speaking
while you touch, while ensuring you "speak" by touching?!
******* eureka!
the prostitutes could talk all they wanted...
when i had a *******...
usual pornographic *******...
trouble came when i didn't have "one on me"...
well then... we exchanged language lessons...
she spoke Romanian... i spoke ******...
we sort of amused each other in English...

but there was no mention of ******,
of latex gimp suits, of a general boredom of having
*** too much...
i was *** starved... she was on the prey...
but i asked her what eyes were in Romanian...
nose, freckles, ears...
i left the brothel riding back home
on my bicycle harrowing
the night with my voice like Frankenstein's monster...

leben kann sein spaß!
(life can be fun)...
i'm sure she's sort of asking herself...
did he come late?
where are the zeppelins?
why is he asking my son to learn German
rather than French or German?
i already said why: so...
the similarity of the grammatical structure
of the languages...
English retains more of the German
than the Hastings' French...

no one sensible enough, can possibly "think" that me,
utilising the German tongue qualifies
me as having neo-**** roots...
i have a fetish... it's my thing...
or that Latin is on the cards
as somehow related...

no.... she's not anxious about the current weather
predicament and the travel discomfort...
she can just call the supervisor and ask him to
pick her up.... he usually does...
he drops off the women at their houses
while making the men figure out:
do i get the bus or do i  walk from here?
typical ******* cuck... some ****-pleasing
invertebrate...
  sure... he's large... but like David vs. Goliath...
it's not much of a  match-up...
6ft2 vs. 6ft5...

today's morning will be a quest for 100 press-ups
of my own body...
i want to be lean... like every rock-climber ought
to be...
i don't want to be some silly ****...
with an asteroid, android... upper body strength
"look"... of taking "too many vitamins"...
Asterix... anabolic steroids...
              look hard play the part...
i'm not having any of that... "juice"... wife and all...

she's feeling anxious... hope she sees me...
i hope to see her...
     i will see her... i will drag her out of her
moth tearing for birth cocoon!
i'm a man in love:
love is ugly... i will do everything...
even if i am punching up in my defence
to make my claim for her...
however ridiculous it might seem...
i will lose friends, i will lose readers...
what does it matter?
when i can feel, so?

     nothing compares to it...