cliff edge 1

Within his tavern of imaginings, out of body looking further outwards
indulgence his shy waitress serving up a comedy of realities
actualities that would censure his each and every manipulation

Dreamlands purple anecdotes a sometimes painkiller save for
when The Master of Suspense visits unannounced, then all is
a mere twisted and spoiled incidental lecherous laundry list plot

Returning to loves dawn he turns back the clock, visualises her one last time
sat there as if only yesterday, kicking off her weather fagged sandals
such lovely legs dangling over a ‘crumble in your hands’ chalky cliff edge
so very high above the sea anemones and their tide pool stamping grounds
“Such a long way down, too much time to think if I were to fall” a passing thought
her mood changing with the weather, grumbling grey gout ridden clouds
hailstones and illusions determining that counting one’s losses prior to loss

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