Sunday, 2 September 2012

Chores

    

Stop me in the midst of daily life,
turn me and kiss me, 
tongue like a knife of satin,
to stroke my insides, 
peel me like an onion,
leave me no place to hide amongst these pointless,
unimportant chores, 
eat the protests from my mouth against the
living room door, devour me, 
like you can’t get
enough; whisper how 
you’ve ached for my touch,
give me no choice 
but to think
only
of you; cover me and worship
with all that is due to this holy,
and sacred 
state; shackle me with longing
until I can’t walk away, 
lay me down on the sofa and honour me; 
back me up in the corner and smother me
with insatiable greed;
to feel is all 
we should ever need to make this house a home;
for when all is said and done;
my darling, 
this,
is what they mean, 
when they talk 
of domestic bliss. 
   

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