The Foam, Fluff And The Filth Poem by allan who

Evening hours of playing peekaboo with the sun
And i lay down lavender words
loping and longing in my journey to you
Crossing infinities of time
Chiding my days
And chastising my ways
For you to return
When you retreated like a soft murmur
Like gentle untuned ripples

Like the melancholic wind that blows and draws in through my window
Addressing my pages and leaving but not reciting my rhymes

Like the fumble fuming puff hailing then slowly fading and failing

Foamy and fluffy with the froathy cream yet not savouring the flavour

Calling yet not caressing
Rhyming yet not flowing

Leaving me like a vagabond
With a foramen self
Grappling, gripping and then giving the grave,
the soul you gave