Sitting in the field of us
I forget what the concept of unfurrowed will allow;
as it's just me and youy
in the now now now.

I can still hear your loud sleeping noise through the door,
if I was being abrupt
I'd say it's a snore.
But it isn't that obtrusive to me,
it's part of your calling card
as far as I can see;
a breathless wonder
found easy
in the dark,
always hooting every gurgle;
my love,
my brightest spark.

My family is better than your family...

My Dad wouldn't care if I was gay,
words of love would be all he had to say,
he's pretty **** okay.
& because my Mum's 1/4 Burmese
I tan dead easy in the summer breeze,
sun's out? Guns' out!
If your Dad discovered you'd gave head to a him he'd shoot your head in,
son's out? Gun's out.
Your Mums not alright,
& she's all white,
that's why you go well red.
Oh, my parents bought me books, that's why I'm well read,
yours said "******* I'm busy, take your illiterate little ****** *** to bed!"!

I sometimes think
the solution
is flowing illusion,
and evolution:
and forward tracks that
stop for delicious snacks:
and put light
into back packs.

When I see you,
near,
or far,
I always quicken my steps,
the eager to be closer brings rapidity to the fore;
the seeking fast
wanting more.

You
with yourself
put sparkles
in my ground;
and unearthed with ease
when you come around.

You?
You make me fabulous,
all wow and starry;
feel I can usurp King at Kong
and then move on to beat Federer
at ping pong
on the Atari!