She fell for a chocolate ear

They said she was always
Just a verse away from genius
Cascading like an odd alphabet
From the ladle of the hot soup
Of contemporary writing

They also said rather cruelly
That she had a fat arse
But although a man might see it
He'll call it a virtue if he likes her

One day she met Mister Big
A clammy handshake at a wedding thrash
She felt tense like warm worms were bursting
From her thick hot loins
And with a curious flourish she rests her hand
Uncalled for
Upon his hirsuit Columbian chest
And feels reciprocated underneath the cotton blanched
A heart ringing
So much the beating of a brand upon a forge
Politely she "ooh ohs"
A sorry is O.K. and its on
Its hot

in an instant she is undone with all her windows open like a freshening room upon the first day of spring and all her old clothes in tatters sputtered round the bed as though delicious mice and moths had feasted there
without
regard to sanity

The dusky fusions of reality are
That we want it and we want it now
Without recourse to understanding
The why's and whereofs
And later amid the junk of relapse
We see as clear as old stained glass
The errors and the beauty of that style
Now past a heritage to carry forward
Like a bookish lesson to be learnt in candid moments
Maybe later

He is a chocolatier
He puts his chocolate there
So when a diameter runs through a circle
It reconciles both sides
And for a while no tangential forces
Impact upon their being

Love loves art
It penetrates then dull mantle of conception
And with volcanic vigour
The ruptured plates spew forth
The most crazed ideas
And even if its crap
It feels so great
So spontaneous
Preoriginal
The gushings of a precious core
Make new and fertile
But you may not know
It may also take away
Deprive that thermal drive and seal the crust
A sealed vault with a being riveted somewhere inside
A naked manikin trapped in a dress window
A ruby cut and set
The core of a simple ring

Love can have strangely linked topologies
Art can be a cruel lover

The muse no longer cheerily pops its head
Where it once came to most abundant breakfast
Bad as a feted sister
Has a hansome drug habit financed
By just a verse away from genius
The sister whom doesn't mind being
Its ideas, its spontinaeity, its foundation
And its butt oftimes

As inspired goes tough
Shouting then enraged ensues
They fight and bite and scratch
And everybody's hashed and stressed and stretched

in the time it takes for light to twinkle off a spoon her sanity undone with all its walls flaky and glass strewn on the floor and all the windows banging wildly in the forcefull winds and all her old ideals in tatters sputtered round the house as though a madman feasted there and glued them to the edges of the spurious spaces
without
regard

He takes his final leave
He takes his weird hairdo too
Though he could have left it