Willow patterns chase around a bowl
Through pictographs of bluest tide,
Paper tigers and some bitter rice
When you became some others’ bride.
Sampan glides across a lily pond,
Ornamental and pristine,
Crimson dragons and a sky-ward kite
Their tails of envy brightest green.
Pagoda structures set against the sun,
A concubine salves in my head,
Scents of winter and an ending day,
The far horizon glowing red.
I search the coastline but you never come,
Just haunting trace of memories,
So I recline within my paper dreams
And sail away on China seas.
Ok, ok, it's rubbish. This is what happens when you drink Kronenbourg 1664 on
a dismal Sunday evening and then try and write something. So let that be a
warning to you all. Still, oddly enough I quite like it. My god, have I really drunk that
much? Must have - I've posted it as well.