Flapper

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.

Comments

[pocketpunk]

keep away from naked flame
may damage clothing

[David]

What a lovely poem.

[ellie]

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

[overnighteditor]

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.

[gffjgvscxi]

teen boy erotic photography

[isabelle]

The fastest way to travel is by candlelight....