Rapunzel

She left, 

Thunder at my ears, 

Dug out an attic, 

And kissed me, 

With cobwebs, 

Clasped between, 

Mouth and nose. 
Her tilting, 

Back and forth, 

Rocking her wooden way, 

Panic in that blooming ass, 

And her eyes, 

The brown black, 

Soaked with wine, 

Or perfume, 

In search of the reprieve. 
Hands, 

Silken made, 

Lift a heavy lid, 

Tearing her skin from limb, 

In an effort, 

To dissuage, 

The danger, 

Of my dank clouds. 
When I’m forgotten, 

Or I do forget, 

And start to balk, 

Worry the sky will fall, 

I’ll not find my bed, 

Or that these droplets, 

Will turn fire back to cinders, 

Then…
You can leave the message, 

Rattling down the wire, 

Twanging right in my direction, 

That would be just fine. 
For now, 

I frolic, 

And spray myself with it, 

Lap it up, 

And do a dance, 

With some windy fists, 

That fight furiously, 

Around my midriff, 

Make coughing fits, 

And the adrenaline lift. 
Satin carpet, 

Languid armchair, 

Sunday afternoons, 

If even, 

Just call me, 

On the Saturday, 

To make sure what mood I’m in. 

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