Wednesday, 23 September 2009

The Breakfast Man

He comes on Sunday mornings
To my sleep-syrup bed
With softboiled starling eggs
Cupped in his palms.
He balms my lips
With bacon fat
And spreads me soft
Like butter
As he slides the still-warm eggs inside
And turns to sausage
In my mouth
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14 comments:

  1. Anonymous23 September 2009 at 08:25

    i'm going to go out on a limb here and say - i don't think this is about breakfast!

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  2. Paul23 September 2009 at 14:30

    Holey mackeral! That is Sack Posset with linebreaks and it is stunningly brilliantly amazing.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Anonymous23 September 2009 at 18:58

    So... what's for brunch?

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  4. Ellie24 September 2009 at 12:33

    I've never thought sausage could be so nice.

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  5. Anonymous25 September 2009 at 11:43

    Good poem!

    Good way the start the day.

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  6. Jason Gusmann26 September 2009 at 06:09

    food and lust are my two favorite things, caliguless.

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  7. Anonymous26 September 2009 at 15:41

    hmmmm...sounds like you found your missing passion.

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  8. Sack Posset27 September 2009 at 05:25

    But seriously, guys, why HAS no-one invented a bacon condom? WHY?

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  9. Anonymous27 September 2009 at 06:12

    Nobody has thought to slice bacon that thick. Quick, off to the patent office you go!

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  10. Sack Posset27 September 2009 at 06:13

    I could corner the luxury market with Parma ham.

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  11. Anonymous27 September 2009 at 06:30

    But the swine supply will draw low and the government'll need to find some other animal to blame a disease on!

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  12. Sack Posset27 September 2009 at 06:32

    Otters. I have always been suspicious of otters.

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  13. Anonymous27 September 2009 at 06:44

    Because of their hard knockin' mussel habit? Their effortless felicitation eliciting envy?
    The fact that they can be wet without being too cold?
    Or is it just their beady eyes?

    ReplyDelete
  14. Sack Posset28 September 2009 at 03:44

    One of them once stole my trolley in Asda.

    ReplyDelete

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