Friday 22 November 2013

#85 - Semi Naked Cold Hot Water Bottle

I sometimes think of it as a puffer-fish
all out of luck and beached on my mattress,
its slack lips plugged with a plastic bung.

Under my fingers it is grippy and cool.
When I squeeze, it gloops
and pops its microtonal song,

remembering the ocean, neap tides,
Pacific currents flickering with sardines,
lava chimneys, continental rifts,
the distant shifting ceiling of air.

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