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My first attempt at a pantoum - rules on structure seem to differ greatly from source to source, but this is based on the structure we looked at in a Poetry Society session last night.
I wrote this to entertain myself when stuck on a train between Kings Cross and Leeds. "And the dark blue straits of the Piccadilly line, seeping towards Heathrow like spilled ink."
It's the morning after the night before, and Nicola's world becomes all the more surreal when she finds her one night stand's teenage brother helping himself to breakfast in the apartment.
Cool fingers tread carefully on my skin, circling the black hole of my navel. And those eyes are suspended above me like two strange stars in the murky galaxy of my bedroom.
I understood that Grandpa had been a militant Liberal Democrat who would have painted himself yellow and run naked though the streets of Shipley for the cause.