The Best of Whitney Houston.

Coupled beneath heavy blankets they dozed,

untroubled by weather; inspired, betroved.

After first, second, third, breakfast, they rose;

shadows in candlelight glow, unclothed.

The kissing of hallowed relics in Durham

is allowed, I’ve heard. As is the giving

of chips to crows. In the cenotaph garden

at Amble, the clocks are still, for the living.

Ticks all the boxes, kisses the children.

Burps their hot water bottles, like babies,

at breast; hums The Best of Whitney Houston.

8 thoughts on “The Best of Whitney Houston.

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