Alchemisland

Packed your stuff away, boxed up in the basement, and in their place

Hung paintings, Me looking saintly

Satan-praising dainty peng tings appraising me

A blaze in me that has me seeking peaks

Eking my way along a fateful razorblade, blood-rusted and dust-encrusted

More stops and stations than Christ’s Easter perambulations, wyrd day ended crossnailed

I’m bringing it direct like snail mail

Cursing like I’ve got Tourette’s if the hay goes stale

Feeling the braille book of her body, doing it doggy like Egypt flood soggy

I skip from contents to epilogue, tasting muscle where bogroll goes

Give it a nose like it was bouquet of red roses and nosegay posies

I’m reposed boldly on her old timey bed, nothing to imagination left

Bereft of everything save sacred presence, I watched her pleasant

Striding pheasant furtive to the bedside locker, opening the first

Drawer along it she produced a purple bong, she wore a skirt and thong

She left the lights on and never closed the curtains, asking to be hurt

Tell her just go if she’s bursting, I’m thirsty and something dirty

Sounds what the doctor ordered urgent, she’s on me like an unguent

On a pungent wound sustained gamboling in London.