You are that rainstorm,
I’m swept away in the downpour,
You are that blizzard,

I’m a shard of ice,
I’m melted,
In your fire.

You are that dream,
I place in my heart,
My destination,
A lifetime pursuit.

Oh, Elon, of the endless Tweets,
how Starmer earns your ire,
did he reject your Tesla car,
or did he really light the fire?

Does Keir refuse to gaze in awe,
at your rockets in the sky?
Did Labour's leader laugh too hard,
when your X became a why?

Or is this purely Musk at play,
a prank gone far and wide?
From tunnels deep to distant Mars,
with whims he cannot hide.

Once you cross the bridge
And walk over to the other side
You can never return.
You know where you've been
It was all darkness
And it will make you unwell
Deep inside.

Over the other side
Is such a better place
A much sunnier place
And you will improve.
You will feel better.
Your healing will begin.

while channeling the energy of Google
exemplified by cute and cuddly moogle.

I awoke from mid-day siesta
exuding peaceful easy feeling
total all encompassing bliss
suffused body electric of mine.

Enslaved by thoughts of you,
chained together forever...
Mindless amazement,
I surrender, I'm yours.

The most glorious jewel shines,
polished by the gaze of many.
Kept safe in the Master's harem,
for his eyes only.

Nothing else matters,
I will follow you to the heavens,
risk everything for your embrace.
I was yours from the moment we met.

Just be discrete, do not betray me.
Loose lips and all that.
The master would kill me,
even if the heartbreak didn't.

When those anxious swarms,
Buzz around your head again.
Consume your mind,
Like a foggy brain.

Battling emotions come out to play,
Unkind, unforgiving, and draining.
They push joy and happiness,
So your hearts bitterly complaining.

A cancer that sinks to your very soul,
Gut destroying pain, seems here to stay.
Yet a little voice whispers in the wind,
Fear not , hope is coming, on its way.

Whether arsonist at fault
or confluence of ripe conditions
triggering perfect firestorm,
the titan of fire beside himself with misery,
though no fault of his own
the raging bullish conflagration
a taste of inescapable hell
synonymous with the outer limits
of the twilight zone,
where mercurial Venusians
ply their devil may care attitude
with pitchforks stabbing the sheltering sky
mortifying for those residents
(even firm believers
in a loving divine presence),
especially those individuals

Does anyone know why 17 Borrowdale Road is missing?
Every day I walk past the empty space
and wonder why it’s not there.

No. 13 is missing as well but I suppose that’s just unlucky.

My husband was born at 48 in 1944.
He says there never was a property there.
The plot of land was used as an allotment,
probably to aid the war effort.

I remember a chap once told me
that before the estate was built
a house stood there and underneath
there’s a tunnel that goes to Frankley.

Life without my engineer
Is different
From what it was before.
I'm in a new space
Physically
Emotionally.

He was Mr Can Do
Mr Get it Done
Mr Find a Solution
Mr Fixit
And he did.

He was opinionated
Saying it as it was
And as it is
Out loud.

He was my backup
Like a sturdy
Cricket bail
And he would never move
If I needed help.

He moved seamlessly
To help us all
In any way he could.
You knew he was there.
I miss him.

Please rescue us from this godforsaken place
veritable hellscape, where angels fear ingress.

Just then an unexpected pleasant distraction
woke me from induced stupor linkedin to Los
Angeles fires jump/kick starting telepathic wife
high connection between yours truly husband
to a righteous leftist extraterrestrial establishing
an immediate cove Van Halen brotherly bond.