His texting the weather cues
a side-eyed shopfront collapse.
Prows emerge from navvied-grey,
ground-erasing chiminea to pop
the chance to join a pooling
inches from my flat. Two weaving
and sweating clouds monkeying
the works; cocks of looks who mind
tithed memes of our town/storm
through perplex.
Truthy mooning over yanked screw
looses shunts earthed outrage to
and from our covers. Determined,
bottle-christened, loved chat via
metering bars is our hale. Soared
thumbs search to refresh with sheet
anchors staying the swale.
For Mike.
Like this:
Like Loading...
#mellow 