by Andy N.
(Manchester, United Kingdom)

Something clown-like
But never laced with tears.

Something initially terrifying
But always settled without realising
An repeated groove
On a record player.

Something magical
And perhaps if whispered softly
A little sinful
Even in pitch darkness
At 4 in the morning.

Something fresh
Like new washing powder
And something original
Like everytime
I open up your fridge.


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