Monday, 17 January 2011


It was a Europeans birthday bash
Two months before your hand fasting
And aviation

And in my greedy shame
Steeped in moral ineptitude
We clawed and clasped
Forcing our stretched mouths
Our doused tongues to reach
Besmirched windows

My scarred hands snaked your front
And cut under some bra
I'd probably thrown across a room
Years before

Hadn't we been lectured
From the penultimate lesson?
It seems unlikely.

And now ha ha ha ha ha
We may as well be son and daughter

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