Thursday, 2 August 2012

Poem for a former lover...

furiously flapping flags
in wild windy weather,
worn outside/ inside
late lunch laughing lads leering longingly at leggy lovely,
louching her brothel stew.
Interruptions; mobiles manipulating the mood...
bottles débouched and corks coming,
the sound of wine escaping captivity amongst the unintelligible gabbles;
French flung frantically in between the chairs and the old cuir walls...

And you think you'd love this ?

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