Broth frothing dogs.

there was once a leaden boot

That lined a old slate Miners vale

The Stacked cans Of peeling paint 

leap frogs and Frothy Dogs

sprung from a cupboard with love.
blue striped  and hearth felt romances

made in Open baths under trees covered in tea lights 

as scarabs that remind us of burnt spice book

spines Titled deserts of fallen gods.
As we ran out of excuses that fell from palms

That we brush our sleeves down with

As depths are charged in which cupped ears dwell.
As Hubble eyes look down at the Sites of the hades nexus

redrawn On meridian glass The Autobahn Bluakprinted 

hands Over Layers of lost ancestoral chivalry.

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