Sitting by sullen steps in the slums of someplace, Sunderland

Pink blush on. I feel so stupid. I look stupid. Rose petals decorate my arms and I am beautifully confident in something.

If I was, I would display for you and anyone else who cared or wished to see.

I wanted to slap a fly clean out of the air.

We were born in a cathedral of gaud and stained glass. Our ornamental and archaic romance inspired millions and movie rights and now it glitters like cheap jewelry.

We play coy. We play like morons and I’ve done no favors to you, I, or anyone.

And we are, I am a dog yanking on his collar.

My only request is next time, wear more perfume.

G.B. Pongo