wrapped in tinsel, hung from the beams and force fed laxatives,
the obscene dream of relapsin,
relinquished orgasmic compatriots glancing over their shoulders at the advancing boulders
as the romance smoulders.
They told her and told her it's over it's over but she chose her one leaf clover overture
and smiles at her teeth in the glass
sings unknown soldier and reflects on when she was told he adores her.
Copyright © Rob Browne