Monthly Archives: February 2014

Cosy

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I’m in love

with an object

and I’m done for

’cause it’s not done

to lust and pine

for what’s not Divine

To put on a pedestal

what’s socially risible

historically hysterical

what’s hairy

but scarily

polite

Whose knit one purl one

hurries the sisterhood

back to the scullery

the flowers to flow

through Cath Kidston’s

wet dreams

To adore

an angoran idol

that warms with whimsy

the Lady Grey

the catty ladies’ gossip

chills

To journey

from the urbane

into the brain

of a Bronte

the soft scone-filled belly

of Beatrix Potter

It was a gift (this humbly-hued honey)

not required

but desired

large-scale perfection

shrunk to poke

the cynic’s ribs

I’m done for

me

but not done yet

with my cosy

tiny teapot

pet

*

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