Room 69

Well, I've been in sunny Wales all week (no pun, it was actually glorious weather), and here is the first installment from my recently kickstarted muse.


You've always been so precise about your sleeping
quarters. To you, our hotel mattress was flyblown,
diseased, crawling with infestation against your
panicked skin - I always knew you were a princess;
I promise you I checked for peas beneath the springs.

Anxiety had you sobbing, sobbing, sobbing until
your phoenix touch had run as dry as Egyptian
colour. I peeled away my flaccid shirt and offered you
make-shift covers, to curl upon like a helpless kitten.
Only at my charming touch could you fade into sleep.

Early morning, I traced messages into the bathroom mirror,
ephemeral tokens tangible only in heat. I knew I could
make you smile, for when I picked you up, carried you,
(your feet dare not touch the filthy carpet), your lips
blossomed into giggling lilies, fresh and warm like hiccups.

Frozen silver matters not to royalty such as you, my
queen of hearts; you only ever needed the medicinal
metal of a knight. Your faerie tiara, tangled through
your hair like thorns of crucifixion, trailed damp with
dying orchids. You couldn't breathe in the rain.

i've always loved the imagery and wording of your poetry, and still do *claps*
this here is another perfect example of your work
Perfect wording.

Thank you. Thank you for your comment.