I dreamt about an armadillo and rattan and prune yoghurt
And a tanned, tattooed Tony Blackburn, in bed with a man.
Our garden was full of cheeky rats.
My head pounds, ringed with sweat
Cracked with dehydration.
I thought that my house had a sand bottom,
But apparently it is easier to make room in my heart
For the things I fear
Than for something that doesn’t even yet
Have a name.
We are coming ever closer.
My hectic splashes
Running off the edges
Over a beautiful, bright background of you.
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