Sunday 13 January 2013

Fragments

A tiny paper aeroplane, made of plastic. 
Confetti strewn across wine stained floors. 
A snakes tooth lodged in a family portrait.  
Laundry spread across a cold kitchen floor. 
A hunt across the bedroom for youth and 
skin. A knife through the beast set free.
Chocolate furiously thrown down a throat. 
Post stick notes left on a fridge door. 
Gone for dinner, sort yourself out tonight. 
Pillows dislodged, curtains thrust open, 
beds unmade, it's not gonna hurt. Honey. 
Paperwork and lanterns. Relatives and friends. 
Long holidays and weekend breaks. Yearning. 
Cold comfort on a warm February morning.