Sonnet: Chapter 7, In Which Sleep Arrives At The Abode Of Pub-Chick

Mon, 08 Sep 2008 13:02:42 +0000

And thus in the second instalment of our acquaintance
I did find repose in yon lush-plain of your bed;
Save for hangover I may have been fraught of repentance
But nae: for my weary, beery bones the sleep of the dead.
Pillows as no mortal ever imagined! The expanse
Of inviting mattress delivered dulcet repose, my love-pup;
I dreamed not of dreams but simply of horizontal trance
For there was no escape: I was too fooked to stand up.
A starfish I was, spreadeagled on your linen beach,
Calm and content, wrapped in blanket of Saturday night,
Your own alcohol-infused self tantalisingly within reach,
Yet I touched not; Goldilocks, your bed was just soooo right.
And love? Love is devil's drink, love is feckless leglessness, booze
Until dawn's curtain call, consumated in the world's most perfect snooze.

Comment by bilby, about 1 month ago

Mon, 08 Sep 2008 13:01:57 +0000

As a verb: to spread out on a bed in such a way as to take up as much space as possible.

Comment by reesetee, 6 months ago

Wed, 19 Mar 2008 15:42:19 +0000

Not around here, unless they take a train.

Comment by yarb, 7 months ago

Tue, 18 Mar 2008 06:40:21 +0000

Has anyone else noticed how starfish appear just when you least expect it?

Wordie: Starfish: Comments

Sonnet: Chapter 7, In Which Sleep Arrives At The Abode Of Pub-Chick

Comment by bilby, about 1 month ago

Comment by reesetee, 6 months ago

Comment by yarb, 7 months ago