The birds laid an egg one afternoon. The following morning it multiplied to two.
Two incomplete dreams on a straw bed ogle at my discomfort each day.
I hope for fruition.
A well-loved teacher taught me a lesson last evening.
In unmeasured gait, he strode like a king. I followed in hapless wonder.
Pleasure and pain. In equal measure.
I made love to the thunderstorm.
‘He fucked up his part’ …. And my love was in vain.
It lay in dirty puddles.
The rain drenched me again.
We made love later. On the rainy streets.
Under umbrellas we held hands. We spoke of Shallow Hal.
I dream of fruition.