She din' expect me.
When I climbed a bedroom window, drawn by light.
Troubling dozy, spoonless night.
Moans-groaned, face twitched, shoulders shook.
But I never tired of my little flick-book.
On skirts and skirting-boards, three-pin sockets.
I hid in wardrobes, nibbled pockets.
Dust on her fingers, caught-napping-be, cursing me, in-face-flappity.
But now d'you see?
The two of us, mainly pillar-cater.
Fifty weeks the checkout, two weeks Ayia Napa.
Daytime find me, limb-together prayer.
Crispy-crunchy under the stair.
But I had my moon, and some of hers, so there.
keep away from naked flame
may damage clothing
Posted by: pocketpunk | 13 July 2006 at 12:21
What a lovely poem.
Posted by: David | 13 July 2006 at 18:05
The in-face-flappity six apart crew
had dust on their fingers, caught napping they were
cursing them, nighttime found me limbs together on keyboard
crispy crunching a great comment for your moon
but the bastards were sleeping and my comment was lost.
Essentially what it said was: love your fun w/ language. cool poem. can't say i understand it but love it nonetheless.
x, e
Posted by: ellie | 13 July 2006 at 22:27
A moth flew in and I tried to feed it.
Then I realised - many moths don't eat. They don't have mouths.
They spend most of their lives as eggs, caterpillars and chrysalises. The flying stage of their lifecycle is a just a temporary vehicle, for reproduction, gene mixing.
The moth laid its eggs and died straight afterwards. But at least it lived - fifty weeks the checkout, two weeks Ayia Napa!
Ellie - fabulous comment, all sorts of six-apart inspired weirdness at this end, with comments all over the place these past two days.
Posted by: overnighteditor | 13 July 2006 at 23:45
teen boy erotic photography
Posted by: gffjgvscxi | 28 November 2007 at 11:44
The fastest way to travel is by candlelight....
Posted by: isabelle | 22 June 2008 at 21:23