(AppreCJ8n, 0.52: Love Shut Up)
it's understood She's thetwentyfirstcenturymuse of this betamax betjeman,
and Mistress Tickle airing out mi sheets and sheets o' shakespearespores,
my pencil is developing a tissick.
Her beauteous values shallstillscintillate
like lighthouse honey or meditarraneon twinkleveins of a pavonated lagoon
- tho' i duzzbuzz when We osculateandromp, coz Cee's lucoddy hasme
deem mere diamond-
gem somuch ditchstaffandpikewater bycomp. Butsoon my writingwill
will inhavoc itsoulf,
crash 'n' thrum like a postprandial mathsstudent,
with mockmalice towards my craft
that's but overtired mirth. My puns'll go duffer,
like dairumdairum did when She left
longago with dreams of duranduran.
Cee says therethere's a fine lineless lice i neverfound! o minus
Ceejay, life
ahem... Thehorror! Ahem, gave in ta not giving up,
whycoz there's worse
withdrawalsymptoms from Herholyhugs
than from soft toy drugs, and co-op scotch and cheap good
books, and 'sanandreas' and 'the simpsons'.
And from rush of verse imps on
ketamine kunt kountdownkonundrum up, nor irish ninjas of blarney karate nincompose;
other such otherly creaturecomfortcravings.
Cee's love's my new domesticating mysticism!
IfShe wentall hushhush, announcing
'Us, We've gone suss' -
Her demure lug'oles, veryberry piehole plugged not like She plugged
drain aged me, but trailing commonlaw goldencouple li-CJ failing,
out of love - godyes i'd whip out the guilttrip from my borderline utilitybelt,
o so plaintively recall rhymeflauntingtime
outoflove i housed Her neologism *winkwink*,