When we watch david attenborough
and drink red wine from white glasses
and touch each others legs as though sexual insertion
will be the only satisfactory climax of our fatigued monday evening –
oh monday evenings you beautiful boring bitch
how I wish to fill your void with sentimental fucking.
and then you fart in my direction –
lift that leg that rests on my leg and hope I don’t notice
and I pretend not to notice and watch david attenborough
and comment on the sea lions and ant eaters and eagles
and I can still smell it and I love you more for it,
feeling closer to you like you’ve customised the evening
from being a straightforward romance
to pure-fact intimacy.


Congratulations on your HM, Emmyb. Well done, Sweetie.


I liked the way that you were blunt and not afraid to word it like that. Well done and thanks for entering. 



-Manatee











Yeahhh, you gotta know it's true love when that happens. Hey, at least he didn't try to blame you for it, as many do. 




Real and disturbingly touching, lol. How poetically you've penned this 
63 old applause
