Gasping to fill the void in my lungs
Mimicking a fetus by the doors of the club
Old pastel hair walks on by and checks for a pulse
And a very special kind of cycle starts to whirl
It’s where I get a pretty young thing in sight
And she detonates the curiosity
Suddenly the prying eyes turn to blurs
I want her to Obsess over every square inch
To question the very way I walk
To notice every scar on my chin
She grasps my hair like leaves on a radish
She demands more nooks and crannies to investigate
But after you’ve peeked at the answers
At the back of a puzzle book, it becomes trash
Her attention wanes as the escape plan begins
A 4 week voyage to the bottom of the ocean
It’s where her aunt’s new flat is
She’s come to see her new proboscis worm
All to get me of her chest
And leave me scuttling on the floor
A blue bow’d lady checks to see if I’m alive
And the cycle starts again
Blue bow gets me down on my knees
Demands the anteating treatment
A one way ticket to get a glimpse of god
Through the medium of ASDA bed sheets
Once envisioned my thrills start to stagnate
I’m left crawling on cemented tiles
Like a leech without a belly to feed from
Holding back crimson waterfalls
With a mere forearm acting as the damn
Amber eyes hands me the dressing
Likens me to a NME cover model
And the cycle starts again
Domestic Poetry 