Gosh! When you licked me all over just then,
your saliva like the reflective power of water reflecting a cloud
where the clouds is your body, was warmer
than an overused bouncy-castle pump
or the dumped family of a hen.
Suddenly, I am singing the national anthem, loud,
from a balustrade, a prawn korma
under my arm, and a rose petal in my teeth, in the jump
of my thoughts from olives to Big Ben,
from the burning of a really nice witch to the Shroud
of Turin, and a conversation with the former
Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams, in the thump
of my feet on the slightly marble floor
of the slightly clever king, who stands weirdly in the door.
by Col. Badlwüllz