He lives at his friend Victoria’s
And although a man of the people,
He sees everyone so briefly,
Perhaps, it’s he because gets bored of us.
Our poles moved closer together,
The wire between us slacked.
Electricity left the line,
Crows flapped into dots
It became too close to call.
Less is more, more or less,
Private thoughts in the officers mess.
Crossed lines but where’s the mesh?
Egos bump in this ageing cresh,
Too old for a prince to feel fresh.
Until something stirs in this pointless sesh.
That particular soul wrapped in that, that particular flesh,
I then just want to break the thresh-
Hold me, in this cold sea,
When you wave, I see,
That you’re ebb flows and your tidy.
And you’ll stand close even when you can’t,