When sinners did sin
eyes multiplied...

Impatient fingernails - tap
racing the shifts of moment...

Time isn't a second,
or a sound, or a movement...

With level ground to walk upon,
The warriors may drink tea...

My breast pounds in woe
and my molars butcher the cherry flesh...

A tipped bottle on the windowsill
next to the wine cascade...

The child lies in a morgue pretending to sleep,
Whilst the mother sings a broken lullaby...

The flowers sit as a blooming sea of red
the sort I love - Red Roses...

Mouth watering delicacies to
Make your convulsed stomach churn...

In the dark of night beauty sleeps
To the sound of a broken romance...

"Honey-pot holes in a
sycamore tree and gum drops on...

Shades of rosy pink
Flutter the delicate wings...