May 12, 2023 It’s easy to forget The feeling of rooms I’ve mourned The houses I’ve left I've mourned Sunday flowers Arranged in sepian In a moment of lightness I became a sponge for it Airy And float Over the embers of last nights fuckery I’ve thought it correct to wake up sore And wash the finery owned by old hands Play slave And grate Play beaten ash To one’s weight Desire the boil of whip wounds To Drug-On Tick tombs Slink into the corner cabinet Lick wounds Swallow mild feminist rubbish Delivered weak Asinine dribble Emerge moronic Wet consume Your tales of now Help me to wake bitter Spit hot superiority Bullseye To the back of a lovers throat And stir For years And burn and shake In bled fury It’s all very simple We own no other We possess nothing But our bodies encased But our actions, purposeful But our spirits, fine And all that happened Was that he was tired And wanted to rest beastly The ailing joke - He remained so Blue moons after he woke Slip and gorge Gush and