Alchemisland

She stares with loathing when I dare to say

The direction in which I am going

Eyes rolling my erection showing

A collection of such asides I confide to my file

I hide my portfolio in a hole outside

For turning worms and Duncton’s holy moles to ogle

At times it seems close to over but lovers shall keel over

While Benvolio survives.

She groans when I say

I could make a living from what I wrote

If only the right person would read it.

Nero riding a frightened piebald across a bridge of boats;

Delusion’s embracing vigour, the amazing fever.

I saw her figure and face, or neither.