Soon as I caught sight of your smokey blue-hue eyes, I caught crazy kinds of unkindly fire – Matilda, she simply sees that I’ve been speaking in rambling and ridiculous tongues for the two of we
Prouder than any assessment of one stricken man can actually be

These ‘bang-out-of-order’ boys, they really don’t mean any harm in managing to make my weekends manage to make so very little sense of themselves again…
Again… again… a playground of malnourished showmanship perhaps, albeit an equally beautifully-at-large gain in the upper-hand echelon wherein drama and deadlocked dreams go to breathe

Whereby, wherein the crushed and embittered cocktail mojito knows no truer bounds – iced to the build of its Caribbean brim and breathing right by the glassed foundation of memorable creation

These unaccountably unavoidable, copiously striped-bare and swipingly shaken amounts of aligned spirits which set themselves nonchalantly alight right by the bar of condensed and tear-dropped, tear-stricken dreams

Do tend to take it heavily, heavenly upon themselves to mean everything quietly smitten when twisted and prepped sensuously against your beatnik lip of quantifiable destruction

Tuck-on-in typically tethered and serene with an age-old eye-soar that a barman cannot but deplore – fending for the hangover-from-hell

The atmosphere is simply scintillating and I just cannot get enough of your bohemian, angel-existenced touch – soon as you take a model-esque stroll to the core of my translucent being which transforms itself into a wanderlust walk of eagle-eyed sorts

And enter uncontrollably into the room of dark despair, where frozen stares and interlocked senses stir themselves back to life again

Where everyone aside someone extra special of their very own starts to talk with bubbles of blasphemed speech arisen and still stinging to sing and/or roar near their besotted and bleeding/neatly cheating minds, as though your feminine aspects were the only living, breathing thing offered on ferociously untouchable offer

They may well kiss their very own girl but it is your quivering lips which wrestle with the inner mechanics of its final decision – you appear to be rather decisive at being unfairly divisive

They sure do know better, but then, I won’t ever begin to blame them either
I do suppose that this is exactly what they speak of when they lean in to whisper decidedly near your still stinging ear, to softly avoid all of the nauseating and contrary-to-popular-belief conversations and to secretly, sanctimoniously say: that there is, in fact, a dastardly kind of a kindly heaven perched right here on comfortable Earth – hurts not to witness your contagious, whip-smart and tantalised creation, parcel-wrapped and gloriously strapped decisively within a black and white Percy’s pencil-skirt, every other day

Hurts just as much for them to see you walk away – these falsified aside false-faced individuals… these living, seething imbeciles with alcohol painted impenetrably upon