Spurting Inside Poem by Graham Leese

Ironing out the creases always seems
To leave deep seated burns upon my chest;
Laying such dead to rest we let
The streetlamp glance at best.

In this age of velvet preconception;
You’d do best to wrap yourself in contraception,
Fire love into the plastic
And ingest the cure for the sick.

Smash your head-
Into sandstone or brick;
Where’s the chase
When you’re saving face?

Fires burn; swirled hive like embers kiss
Beside our bed but still
The heat pours from us-
Like faulty radiators.

Spurting dirty black water,
The sex begins to feel like thorns-
Watched by maggots in the sky
And stars dutifully passing us by.