Alchemisland

After wallet loss? Get dialling

Flawless across from me smiling

Lawless, I’m either so inclined, that way minded

Or imbibing ten pints of cider makes me wild.

She Bonnies my Clyde

Slides across someone’s lost car’s bonnet

Highballs of monkmade champagne crossed with dubonnet

Spirits made for stripping paint, add a drop to voluminate.

My raised glass, pinky thatchward a classy touch adds. “To us, mate.”

I intimate my lust is ancient with disfavour, a rusted gate

Something latent much vogueless lately

As if I had raised a challenge, or bruised her talent, she made

Clear as an Eliot poem her intent to taste my glass-encased flavours.

I shy spying upon the wall behind

The cross of Christ whose supplicant cry is self denial

Frostily recalling an appalling paucity he thought divine

Pauper times that kind

Whip familiar spines 

Deal with finely.