the british way, not mentioning
yarn, too much, repeating words,
where no longer necessary. wool
in abundance here, piled on wool
lorries, neatly balanced with

premium  acrylic.

it is a fine line we walk,
gently avoiding peptides,
only just a theory, yet used
independantly, alongside
honest work, for mending.

i drain him.
i know it.
and still,
i stay.

i say i’m trying,
but really,
i’m cracking.
i’m drowning
with his lungs
in my chest.

next i’ll bleed
through his arms,
sob
through his eyes,
wreck
what’s left
of his heart.

i was never
meant
to be held.

Those glinting, scintillating, cascading, droplets 
Rippling the surface of my garden pond,
Are either reaching up or curtsying down.
It all depends, you see, on the Sun’s bright smile, 
Or on its shaded frown.

Summer is here
Fresh warm humid air
Can hear the sounds
             Of fans
Summer day
        Came again

As darkness ruled the night basking in the moonlight. With adamant faces trying to control the light. With acrimonious personalities creating bitterness and hostility of the darkest minds. So there hearts were blank laced with hate. Never knowing love until god created woman and man.  But he couldn't stem the envy of money.