A Complete History of Feral Yearning, Parts 17 to 52

The pantomime theme
Where Sneezy seduces Dopey
Hoping Snow White awakes only for them
………
Wearing hairstyle of the devil
My beard turns to face the setting sun,
Combing my own hypocrisy into
Crumb trails of cunt’ed crescent loaves.
Writing to the night, for the moonlit lovers,
Erecting thrusting transgressions of priapism
Is not really the self-deprecating British way.
Words become limp in Victoriana vasectomies.
 ………

Did we ever drown in a simile river
Hawk our carcass from cursor abattoir?
You, my love, will feel summer blast
Burst bubbles of beached poetry,
Prick two dots across camera lens
Reality runs at 120 frames a second.

Composed in thirty four candles
A language without literature,
Soot twists breeze between bronze thighs,
Typewriter ribbons stretch
Wrists across road signs,
Way beyond amber, ‘Stop And Give Way’.

It will be lust which breaks the bread
Rapacious tides butter the seizing fist,
Hinges fall from wide open doors, rust
Crawls from my hand into fantasy mouths, closed.

Lemon in the glass awaits a natural flow
Diamond rind lips the nesting coffee cups,
Suck the grind from waterfall’ed nipples
Tease the sleeping soldiers from their castles.

Moving between floors, elevating desires,
Crank of the shaft ratchets a body in two,
Splinters summer hills o’er reservoir flocks.
Lakeside, by my side, swallows fly sideways.

Synchronised fall of scree, scene the screen:
Downloaded into your cunt
Prostitute me to quivering fonts,
Baptismal daily breaths moisten the land
Gowned in the creases of my bluest shirt.

Ectoplasm dawn whispers to
Softly bury the misted ghosts,
Tender is the first fuck of morning
Broken are the weeping windows.