Laying, lounging, unusually calm.
A conversation unsaid,
As if nothing is left to talk about.
An ivy-flower pressing against the glass.
The impressionistic blossom-haze twisting itself in an excruciatingly slow dance.
Last night's reverie hangs on my eyelids,
Blurred faces and distant laughter.
Seductive and dark, she gives voice to reason with a strong tongue.
A snake-tongued side-talker, failing to convince the congregation of the global enemy in women,
Always leaving the damned seat down.
This is Father's Day.
A day designed to mock the impotent and sour the failed,
Or to celebrate the unharmful.
Pride, dignity, and honour:
Loose, flabby things which have long since died.
Chivalry, another casualty of the uprising.
It's sunny outside, though.
Let's go out tonight.