Thoughts of Italy

I walk on cobbled and chipped streets.
The smells and the sounds of Stresa and Baveno
on a warm Spring day, come back to me.

Prosciutto pizza with you under the
plain trees remind me of Lygon Street,
and I’m homesick for both.

A scarf of burnt orange moves in the breeze,
and the colour blends in with the architecture;
the sound of Paganini fades, and I’m alone.

A Frosty Morning

Empty beer bottles lay lonely and over-cuddled on the
kitchen table, the lounge room floor, and near the recycle bin.

Semi-naked and numb from the cold, you wake up next
to the love of your life, snoring deeply and looking deathly pale.

Unaware that your lover is waking up, you dash for the
toilet, have a quick wash, and start walking on the crunchy grass.

Waking up, you realise the robe chord is a bit loose and
there is more on display from the rear than you first thought.

The snapping sound seems distant, yet after thirty or so seconds,
you turn around to see your lover snapping your buns.

Initially pissed off, several semi-dark thoughts race through your
head until you let it all go, take your robe off, and pose.