Twenty Love Poems: 18

The hot toddy, hip bits and bobs, the rot bow
for your wrench on a whet night the power out.
Isso cold bed down against the outside of you
without your very verbs and nautical nouns.
I am bicker to discuss my loss: what you lose
on the swings you gain on the roundabouts.
Lute the highty-tighty bowl shaped body out
its floor length flannel down nighty be plucked
and ducked sucked and mucked for the rose
puddles open comes morning and sun’s river
of bees and wasps and grounding of coffee
and cake eggs and rashers for we’ll be hungry
a gain after snatch a madcap night of be hinds
spur of the moment tis issues what it hisses.