A tipped bottle on the windowsill
next to the wine cascade...

When sinners did sin
eyes multiplied...

The flowers sit as a blooming sea of red
the sort I love - Red Roses...

Sat by the fusty loch,
with my least favourite orange jumpsuit...

My breast pounds in woe
and my molars butcher the cherry flesh...

With level ground to walk upon,
The warriors may drink tea...

Impatient fingernails - tap
racing the shifts of moment...

She hid behind
the satin curtain...

Mouth watering delicacies to
Make your convulsed stomach churn...

"Honey-pot holes in a
sycamore tree and gum drops on...

Many years ago,
I looped that raspberry ribbon...

Amidst the moonlit hours
Sounds the rushing cascade...