Thrust Into My Hips

Open the windows, let in the air,

Pick up the bottles, chuck out the cans.

You can stay lying just over there,

Wouldn’t want you to dirty your hands.

The morning after your birthday last night

Is cold with the sting of the fresh winter breeze

As I scurry around getting dirt out of sight.

And you call down shall I order Chinese?

Not quite yet my strapping young man,

I’m going to join you back in our bed

For a cuddle and story, if you can

And I’ll rest on your chest with my head.

The comforting beat of your heart in my ear

Sends my mouth crashing forwards onto your lips.

And I grasp you, holding you near,

Murmuring as you thrust into my hips.

As with most of my poetry, it's not me speaking.

Composed Upon London Bridge

Standing here above the river
As burning blights the bright night,
Embers of empire fail to deliver.
New broken glass to be a tourist sight
Stands half-erect on this skyline.
With this our United Queendom
Growing impotent, MPs mutter that it's fine
While we fight for Eastern freedom.
As I look out across the capital
At remnants of a once great city
Whose heart and soul were used as mere collateral
I think of other once great Empires with such pity.
So, on London Bridge I shall remain
And humbly miss my commuter train.