A Heavy Horse With His Chimney Sweep Thighs

a heavy horse with his chimney sweep thighs

heckled by the crowded mist of a rainbows constant choke.

the eloping eyes of the dancing marrows shadow

running deep into the forest of forbidden leaves

with cuffed sleaves harbouring a meteors' fugitive;

hot coals tingling the breasts of loves most delicate wounds

a harbour masters pelican beak battles with protesting frowns

comedic metaphors hiding beneath gods bloodsoaked eiderdown;

a beggars belief in all that has been buggered by the seasonal change

as the flailing arms of winters migrating auctioneer

tempts fate into the hall of flames where unfertile sorrow smiles

where the grated cheddar spits its' bid onto ceremonial aisles;

the bridesmaid in her hammered dress soaked in a steroid gin

stares motionless as her walking stick

stalks the cries of a bereaving bacons rindless back;

pennies from the salt mines of impromptu desire

scraped with the wired brush of distinguished disguise

as a best man dies on the marbled slab where still lives a summer fruit

so lives the heavy horse as he ploughs his heartless field

with his chimney sweep thighs still sleeping with an angels smoking veal;

a toast for the bride

a pickled egg for the groom of addicted vowels.

a hand towel and a trouser press

who gets to know the truth of what real love really is?

who gets to firstly know

who gets to only second guess?