Saturday, October 30, 2021

Cheesage

Swifts have all gone to Africa again,
 Summer starts to die
 But I'm not growing old. 
 Instead I've decided to mature
 Like a ripe old cheese.
 So I start to smell and
 Small black flies gather
 To hover above my head. 
 Every morning 
I scrape Blue mould from my knees.

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