Love is the slow burn

There is fire in her lips and
her tongue is aflame,
a shame, that put out by the beer
she wants me gone and not here,
no one to blame but myself.

In life’s great academy
there is no one to teach me
except teachers who preach
and the preachers don’t teach
they only beseech me to sit still.

Still,
understanding is nine points of,
no more of the bullshit
the dog shit
the bear pit and
that bit I
understood very well.

Most of the time which is
some of the time but
not all of the time
I am sober,
no whisky, no beer and
no fear of the wine, that’s
most if not some of the time but I
run to a gin now and again,
it’s a failing
but who doesn’t have them?

she forgives me in the morning when
I’m up and still yawning with not a clue
as to who she refers too,

(Didn’t feel there was room for a to whom)

drunk does that to you,
erasing the memory
but still making you guilty
by default.

Whatever it’s forever the rings tell me so,
So when she tells me to go
I know
she’s just fuming
and assuming I’m right
that her lips are alight
I’ll be burning tonight
some time soon.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.