Grimbeau

Fresh, smooth,

honey enthrals me

floats me

casts me off .

Pork chops, bud planting  proposed:

hope springs eternal.

Farce of habit.

No scruples,

too forced lately,

going to work for its ownsake.

Leave it to settle, Mr Pushy-Git for

‘You cannot manage

what you cannot measure.’

Love?

10cc…comes in spurts.

Henless heads, dustbin laden.

Pot posits kettle:

‘You are black.’

Read and rest

after aftershocks.

Lux and lug.

Whimball grooves.