She was so beautiful that men were frightened to aske her out in case they were struck by lightning.She was a conductor, no doubt.You could see the electricity all day.
She looked like the forsythia in spring- larger than life and yellow from eating too many buttercups
She wasn’t a woman, she was an induction hob so hot the pans boiled before they went onto it.If you grasp my meaning.She sang like a spark from an angels’ chorus that flew near the sun and got smothered in that white dust I keep seeing everywhere.What is it?Dirt used to be black in my youth
A black sun gazed down on the earth.It was graduation day for comets or was it comics?Anyway we all wore black but we couldn’t see anything.Next time we shall stay in bed and read Nicholas Freeling… with torches
My boyfriend is like a chip pan.He is too hot to go near and then he’s cold and set like dripping or lard.
My mother was very warm hearted.But she hid it so well she didn’t even know herself!
How my heart sings 