Alchemisland

This love has me going mad 

I’m standing pat but my standing is bad 

Amongst creditors and editors 

To a crocodile everything is edible 

If it’s not sensible, present. Sensual 

I sent you them all, strange girl down the hall

See you in the corridors of a morning 

Larks mourning a funeral Dawn 

You like a haunting 

A portrait of one forlorn 

Crest of the stairs, there 

Hair tobacco coloured, pushed back

Staring at the peeling door to your flat 

You OK, I always ask that 

She’s distant 

Like I’ve got something that warrants a hazmat

Doff my cap in passing

She whispers thanks for asking 

I walk off without answering 

I feel her glance on my back 

Like the dancing sun 

Like a lancet runs my spine 

This happens sometimes 

Other times I leave 

Fully expecting to see you 

Eve of St Eve’s complex 

Complex is not the word 

Tedious routine inherits pleasance 

Something in her presence 

Seems to lessen that essential essence 

Of my thought, seeing all as 

Malevolent

Umbilical, never unwilling 

Never unexperimental it’s thrilling 

Someone willing to get down into the swill

A long mud bath, taking your fill