Long legs,
Orange eyes That singe the dusk Like fireflies, That drink the sky And toast to mine, Get drunk on words In lieu of wine. Black coffee Brewed in threes and Putney bridge is Drowned in trees. So lend me your Candy-coated kiss, Repartee and Weightlessness. (Whilst trivial questions, Poised on a cloud, Plummet to earth to be Spoken aloud.) If I were a book Would you break my spine? And if I were French Would you feed me a line? I can’t cure like nicotine, Painting your heart black, Nor am I poetry Scrawled on the tarmac. Nevertheless I’d cocoon you in rhyme If this metre and stanza Could cancel out time. I’d freeze the Atlantic In its current position; To keep you I’d put on an Antic disposition. If dancing on a harpsichord By the village green Gives you as much of a Kick as caffeine, We could spend the day Tripping the light fantastick, Not caring if Others see us as bombastic. You’re a tall, tea-stained English rose Speaking in prose on your Tippy toes, Employing a diction that’s Eloquent yet slurred, Like dissonant chords mixed with Biblical words. Mumbling lover - If I had my druthers, We’d both end up in Some city or other, We’d roam every boulevard, Smoking our cigarettes, And you’d live forever in this Rhyming couplet: Like Mary you are quite contrary. Like breathing, you are necessary.
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