Licing Home, 5

I recall how, as a young horndog, 
in t/ heydecade of my 1st 
serious wuveydovey shackup, 
upon another rosyfingered hideout 
from hardgraft, yet on that occasion
lazybones I feigned,
a welcome voyeur superfluously 
surreptitious, squinting l/ a pimp 
under a redlight on t/ fritz
at my not yet ex dressing for work,
as she slipt on her bra after embrocating 
& talcing her tits. My perving gurn 
& sleazy asthma florally niqabbed 
by t/ duvet, 1 f/  a wankbank
of poignancy such privileged access to her
fragrant ritual. Feminine finesse at 
fresheningup arcane to mucky man 
pulling Sid James faces from an enclave 
swaddled in her similarly suaveolent 
ladylike linen,luxuriously laundered
on more than biannual basis,
unlike bachelor bedding.
Man, that was t/ most home I'd known.

2nd home might be down t/ Square

(musical interlude: 
'Take me down to Anglia Square,
t/ Poleaxe &  t/ Pataks & t/ rum 'uns shop there
- O won't you please take me home, yeahayeahair!
Take me down to Anglia Square,
where everybody's got grease in their hair
- O won't you please take me home, yeahayeahair!
Take me down to Anglia Square,
t/ pikies & t/ paydaylenders rob there
- O won't you please take me home, yeahayeahair!),

anyway, should I be there
& my craggy babyblues home in on
t/ gravid grace of some cutiepatootie ma-to-be,
I wonder would it feel l/ home
were I t/ 1 entitled to place
his ear to t/ mound l/ a doting Tonto?
Another soppystern L-plater pater
supersoonerratherthanlater, squatting reporter
upon t/ latest mulekick 
w/in her tum of tendertautness,
only this time listening out f/ a Lysandero?
Away in a manger, no lone ranger danger,
may my wife be plainer & my kid less crazier
than me & know no knitted wallart should read
'Hell Sweet Hell', even if hell's kitsch. En

route to my supportgroup 1 stormy purple morn,
along Hotblack Road which ribald vandal
had rechristened 'Hotblack Porn', I beheld
an amorphous austerity origami
of abandoned rags, then twignified they signified
an abandoned man, when I noticed  t/ peeling Nikes 
poking out of t/ abject coat. 
Risible shelter rising
l/ a premature pall, f/ he was still respiring 
w/ a shallow rise & fall. 
Lastnite's 2litres of Jaywick champagne 
now a blackout memento 
brimming w/ t/ brusque rain,
upon his bedsidecabinet kerbstone
prelude to a mortuaryslab. 
I never saw his face, only his effacement,
as British winter waterfall 
of permanent staycation smashed down.

Y'know, that smutty graffito was halfrite:
to a Tory t/ pavement jockey plight 
of another is l/ porn. But don't underestimate
how sublimated sadosexual delight
tingling in Tories  breeding destitution
is fullest Thatcherite frisson 
when they undomesticate
fellow native Englishmen, feralise us
into cold & white Hotblack Top Cats 
living in bins. F/ climaxing spoil 
of squires in Tory classwar
is classic victory over t/ purely poor. 
Yet, that crumpled bundle of person in t/ rain
could win Buck House 
in republican raffle come t/ revolution,
in Corbynomic sweepstakes that 
sweptaway t/ ancien régime 
but after being that homeless in yr homeland,
could anywhere ever feel l/ home again?