What madness are these

Midday moments of misery?

When my ears go deaf from the sound of

Faceless tears

Sent back in time from foreign fields and

Familiar mouths I long to

Kiss.

 

What madness are these

Midday moments of melancholy?

When lonely yowls do make me feel as blue as

Monsieur Majorelle’s fingertips,

Held against pneumonic lips,

Which match the colour of my toes

(Dammelooo!)

 

What madness are these

Midday moments of malaise?

When anxious nails scratch at these itchy feet,

As the phantom chilblains burn more fiercely than

Jaipurian suns,

How I long to

Kiss

You

Goodnight.