she took a piece
delicious little tart
I spun her some yarn
on the off chance
she still harboured
any romantic illusions
some tired old cliché
from the top shelf
an awkward confection
of fractured truths
and outright posture
I can sell snow
I know my face
is my best device
I don’t rehearse
I do it alfresco
but it all joins up
in the ancient ritual
and no-one gets hurt
so there’s no crime committed
.
No comments:
Post a Comment