Let us have back our annual prize!
Bedraggled skies - I'm sick and tired
Of your subterranean… dark eyes,
You're like the lover who feels undesired.
Put-on silk gowns - show me some thighs.
For the ladies put-out a masculine chest
With white cotton clouds loosely vest.
And for me show evenings scarlet-red
With her on a bed - arms outspread.
But for god sakes give our blurry eyes
Some heavenly skies - lest we all go mad…
Let us have back our annual prize!
Lager laden gardens; sunburns unclad.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
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