I domicile at her neck's curve
As I hold her close and nestle
And gently with her hair, I wrestle.
While she expels silver strands
Of everyday gossip and rumours.
All said in her own sardonic humour.
She warns me not to tell anyone.
While I: a perpetual drunk on cola and rum,
Can only think of biting her bum.
I am so F-tired
A good night’s sleep is all I crave.
But it is much more than that.
As dreams turn into nightmares
While I strive with a bucket of hope
Turning fantasies into reality.
This new year churns
Another dimension of time.
And it affects me no more
Than it should and as I allow.
I rinse my face again and again
As I escape into ‘morrowland.
