spite me

Taste. Flavour, my Dreams have texture
Food. Banter, the train ride home.
Have you asked for your place under?

In the four by four
inked in his own cell
the splintered creaks together with the tattered flooring
a quarter to give. none to savour the return trip.


lies in the dreamlike trance beside the tranquil lake
how many secrets does he keep?
untying the bonds ingrained to a sweet sinful perfection.

how will i find my peace tonight?