A14
Tobacco smoke whiffles at the Brown Etonian inverse square law of cat shit
it's 8:57am
do you want to die early?
maybe you do
Christ, am I the shit?
I know it's not Grand Budapest standard
but my mind is still blown.
Urban soil biome and fitness supplement
dug you up like a repressed memory
when I found a picture of you.
Fuck!
Swipe your phone into a bog before you trip another LCD Stoatsystem
at least you didn't forget about dray.
(ye, and he could rhyme too)
Shut up I'm trying to write a poem, FFS.
I remember who you are now:
Fourteen taunting legs akimbo,
a graded cellist with caustic sinew and love of Morrissey exorcised
replaced with creme Caramel
the same Magdala hair and knowing eyes
tell me what that smell is,
let me enter your prize draw to win one of five thousand personal CD players
when I find a picture of you
you make my whole jar wobble.