Gold Mastercard buys timeless words;

Sun sets on gyneocratic fruitlessness.

I listen to the bird to find the sun.

I listen to the sound behind closed doors,

scratching the soles of your shoe.

Let him have it for justice;

I sensed a fox in my hollow lounge.

Nothing so warm on a cold day,

as a smile.

The sun oppresses, like governments;

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Sudden light falls shining

through tentative air;

I've got Plath married to Larkin -

where did that come from?

Let the Queen

take us from reality,

dreaming of coupling

and cosy nests.

Death and the maiden: sure as taxes

and angry mothers-in-law;

secret sadness

masked by convention.

Your heart-beat

beats with mine;

I...

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