(A dietary conundrum).
We are separated,
and it seems that I can no longer
look you in the face.
I know that you would take me back
in a blink,
and I would love to come. But
four painful weeks have dragged by,
a lifetime, after which even your smell
is now a distant waifish breeze.
Pining, I am fading too,
I am less without you,
Isn’t that the point to prove.
© Graham Sherwood 01/2012
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Monday, January 02, 2012
Recovery
(The nursing of a relative).
Your flaccid sausage cock slaps me around the ear
as I slide damp pants beneath your arse,
and your watery words,
sorry! sorry! sorry! spill on my head
like harmless rubber bricks
along with your tears.
Life’s lottery brought your numbers up
but took your legs as the ticket price.
So we both begin here, base camp one,
the brooding mountain,
visible only to our punctured imaginations,
with you in the harness, me on the rope
we start the climb.
© Graham Sherwood 01/2012
Your flaccid sausage cock slaps me around the ear
as I slide damp pants beneath your arse,
and your watery words,
sorry! sorry! sorry! spill on my head
like harmless rubber bricks
along with your tears.
Life’s lottery brought your numbers up
but took your legs as the ticket price.
So we both begin here, base camp one,
the brooding mountain,
visible only to our punctured imaginations,
with you in the harness, me on the rope
we start the climb.
© Graham Sherwood 01/2012
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