laundery

Laundery Time.
G-string gusset
deliciously soiled
sensational
flower of russet
hob nob biscuit
side of brisket
broiled
quest for chest
ripened and nimble
a needle is pricking
onto a thimble
and so then
what if I could have a thought
bringing ahead my sense of comfort
stitched and cottoned as to where it ought
might blind the past to repudiate at last
the quartered shavings of labours gainsayings
and time’s retort and blast
of our every sentiment
and of our climbing monument
to deliver the reason for believing
properly after all.


could I wish it properly
and let it be.