52 blue Mondays a year

LOVE IS BLONDE…After 2 months my lover returns tomorrow – he’s been racking up cash working for FIFA on films and broadcast in South Africa.  It’s gonna rain after solid sunshine for weeks. He’s been locked in an Alcatraz residence precinct like District 9, with ‘fun buses’ pelleting them out past gun-toting chancers lurking around the gates.  He’s not had one day off for the whole stretch.  So excited to roll up to at Heathrow to collect him.

Vest, Abercrombie. Skirt, Mrs Jones.  Shoes, Cavalli

A few skint Christmases ago I handbound a book of 100 Love poems to him, here’s one that I don’t mind sharing:

SUUS VEXUS MANUS:

My pestering hand creeps you out

Abusing your body, and your pretty pout

Stroking, needy, greedy charm

Please chop off my outstretched arm

Boring, pathetic, weedy hook

My fingers just want to have a look

See if you’re up for it

Or if you’ll flip at the vagrant mitt

Dancing up and down your chest

Reaching down as an uninvited guest

My pestering hand wants to read your mind

Calm you down and make a bind

Maybe find your five fingered friend

They’ll grip and that will be the end

Of this pawing touch and wanton twitch

That steals your rest like an evil witch

Your independence put on pause

Kidnapped by these tapping claws

Stroking, touching, marching forward

Digit soldiers in your chest beard

Pawns set ahead to check of drought

More annoying than a case of gout

Get your axe and sever my phalanges

Tie my pestering hand in good bandages

And commission a taxidermist to preserve

This iconic symbol of my undying lurve

Put it on a plinth and behind glass

Label it it Suus Vexus Manus

A reminder to all who want to be admired

That tempers frayed and services desired

Must be respected, honoured and obeyed

Or they could end up dead like this lonely maid

A bodyless scout in an early grave.

Never forget to consider the destitute tale

Of mindless wandering in another body’s vale

This pestering hand had no superpowers

And will never now be draped in jewels, just flowers.

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