Poetry of the ageing

Two irregular peas in a tiny pod

Resonate in different valencies

One began not allowing for sacrifice

While the other began the other way

Prematurely hemmed in,

Now seeks to uncompromise

And so, the beats don’t match

Perpendicular ambitions

Lead to perpendicular sleeping positions

Creating right angles that are not so right

Right angles, but of screaming silences

90 degrees are a few too many

Or could it be the crook of an arm

Bony but warm, or fleshy and soft

The perfect angle for a neck to nestle in

To quieten the screaming silence

With the gentle hum of sleep-breathing

Cos the universe will expand anyway

To it we are insignificant anyway

And right angles are but relative…

Anyway

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