Swedish parlour.

Posing questions of erasing its stitched days 

A foot lost in pail of perfumed drinking game

Crushed Crepe piling up in Scandinavia parlour  

Hidden mantras in neptunes ancient hearth

Where to keep those irksome bookmark flies.

Taking turns with monoxide drunken dreams 

lick a Curacua postage adhesive liquorice 

And wood louse raised it antenna on cute angle 

Felt Napkin folded by the stoker spade 

space all about but you senses rifled memories

Can’t you appreciate that ashen faced freedom.

 –

shall I take you back to where we found 

Your earthy name and replant it 

With your worrys buried in orchard vales

Dance in the trees in the fading sky’s.