a shower of one summer word after another

humid mist, humid mist, blissful wince in the shower as the water splish, splashes on yesterday’s sunburn, sizzling pinches, hot rich breaths on my shoulders lounging, loafing, stuck by sweat on the leather sofa stolen from the street looking neat in my garden nestled between healthy nettles and the roses for cheeks on english roses, english noses which lead on, follow the leader leader leader to the park, to the grass which couldn’t be greener greener greener, its been a long time since I’ve seen ya, how are ya? I love ya, you’re my best mate, let’s kick it, great pass, fall on your ass, hysterical implosion, laugh, cackle, shriek, heaving deep as your back is mercifully broken by the weight of the world, food lover consumed in absurdity, satisfied sportswear punk, lucid drunk, naked lunch, glistening silver-plated ripped packet of wotsits, life-confirming fag drag wisps, plastic bag drifting free and content from somewhere heavent sent to somewhere half-spent in a sympathetic wind sighing despair, care, life and all it’s light and dark haired little boy giggles at a fart that his little mate donny done, that’s funny, everything’s funny really, you got any money? Dunno, probably, wanna go two’s on twenties are the best years a life you wanna lead according to this terrible magazine daydreaming pupils read, twenties are sold in 10-pound boxes which ridiculously detail how they help you pass away, twenties debaucery, the decade long party meant to be cautionary but lets throw that into a breeze mentioned in a distant memory, get carried like arrows in a parry, like a toddler with her whole life ahead of her giggling, kicking waddling legs in a swaddling blanket to sunbathers in brockwell park, to a tragic old rockstar in the elephants head, to dancing with a 6-foot model getting west in east, south london blunt chuffing rastas forking out for rum in spoons, to stars knifing the unpolluted cornish sky, to 5am bleary eyed holiday takers in gatwick’s Costa, to the sweaty musk on a runner running through dusk, gotta win, gotta be first, maybe I’ll just settle for seconds as vacuous as midnight promises between puppy lovers in pub booths bashing heads, nuzzling necks, twisting tongues to silently solve troubles time-trapped and tangled tongue twisters, tonsil tennis, 40-15, 40 loves a game we’re winning in 30-40 degree heat, its all good sport logos sported by good sports, good sorts, she’s a sort, she’s pure sauce, sorta broad I’d court woops caught short thinking silly thoughts I shouldn’t ought staring at her taut short shorts, stalk-like, bald-white legs out, thats alright, whoever you are, wherever you are in this whether to have a drink now or later, what’s later? Later is not now somehow but I don’t know how not now could every be found, conceived, seen by a minds eye blinded by cloudless light, like seriously what’s night? A friend I’ve known for years tells me its when you dream. Whats a dream? Not sure, probably something worth hoping for. Like what? I dunno, like right now, when hours taste like souffles, so sweet, sweet sweeties treat me to a torn up tongue humming an 80s tune, this is a tune, who are you? I love loving too we say with moistened eyes refracting fruit machine rainbows like dust dancing rays through a grubby, glass of water my booze decicated, emaciated, salt emaciated face reflects what it ought to, what is shouldn’t ought to: my rippling reflection burning as blisteringly true as cigarettes, a untroubling reflection which reflects a bubbling, blistering complexion swearing as clinically as tourettes that it doesn’t get better than this, this bliss, misty eyes, hot wet highs, mist, humid mist, humid humid mist from water which splish, splashes on yesterdays sunburn, sizzling pinches causing a blissful wince, what bliss, what bliss

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