are thick like monsterspit
flushed down the weir.
There was the carnal thing
nectar so sweet
no tongue would ever ping
blueberry sheet.
There is a spark to light
the mix to blow
and in the final night
the dew did flow.
They were confused at that
was it just lust?
A shaven pussycat
and plunge we must?
We be outsiders now
just looking in,
to judge the why and how
with a small grin.
And then we talked a bit,
she looked at me
and said, I say (to wit)
I’ve got to pee.
I knew right then and there
we’d never leave
and while she counted hair
each early eve
I took her lovely hand
and held it tight
all through our Sandman’s land
(remind the night?)
and when we woke we knew
our heart will beat
and that the morning’s dew
makes us complete.