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,
When you can’t abide me
Our flush fitting moulds,
That trust untold
Blood rivers rush so bold,
Surrounding us it scolds
Where once merely drip, drip, drip,
Through taps covered in mould.
So it seems, the plumbing screams
These pipe dreams make my nuts tight,
Able to scale the soda and lime light.
I care for your thirst not fight
Bubbles burst but not to fright
You flick the switch of my delight
Irises say hello to the night,
Blackness, beating, and what’s left,
Is only what’s right.