Archive

Love

Your lissome regrets

Harbour no sails

As I groom you to know

I am not equal to your love

I sustain

You envelope

Me in your lusting

For More.

I wonder at my name

Prince William of Brit

For never shall I know

How you found me

Alone as a knave

Now my wish has been

Granted. I have found

A Tommy but you are

The swell I have been

Swimming for.

Lift me up so I surf

The Kalahari again

Resist not

Dear Kate

You are the timely

Saint of my

Longing. B

BCDFM

COPYRIGHT Bruce E Saunders 2020

She walked like a librarian

She talked like a sociopath

Her legs were like tulips

Her smile like a vice

It held you fast and fleeced you

Slow and carefully

Like a nurse good with a needle

You didn’t feel a thing

Copyright B E Saunders 2016

I have a sister who stepped in at a time when my own had abandoned me.  Her love and support saved me from homelessness as she kept a wary eye upon the Health Workers who insisted on depriving me of my independence.

It is the truth that they the health workers manipulated the system on my behalf so I find myself in a strange position of being half resentful and half grateful.  Without their diagnosis and form filling I am confident I would have been homeless by now, for several years.  Instead I am housed with enough state support that I have time to do what I want to do which is write to my heart’s content.  But I know in my heart of hearts in tougher societies I would be foundering.

I am spoilt by the British state as others struggle with the get ahead notion and participate in the sprint for the line – I am not even in the race, on the track, at the meet.  I’m at home chillin’.  I’m just sorry I have no cat.

No cat to make fat no cat to be me in an altered form to transgress and go solo like an evil wan…but things cannot be perfect.

No cat to sly my by

To sleep with me at night

To hold me to her tang and

Know it is I that feeds her

I know I shall be that cat

When the time comes to find someone

Who wants a stray without measure

For their art of self sacrifice

It is no’ the one who is the first

Who wins it is the one who comes second

And last who makes it to the end

Of the game without pause for

Water or oil to slide

Down the cause of the port of even steady motion

For it is without the need for all this

That makes for the best time and life

The need is too much for the rest to follow

But I can.  I can.

Copyright B E Saunders 2016