Old Soul Mates

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Old Soul Mates

after our
sexual shenanigans
the laughter
the loving
the fun
we can be
quiet together
for you
my dear friend
are the one

Sunday morning

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Sunday Morning

Birds belt out their standards
from a neighbouring tree
as we cradle cuddles
and a stay-in-bed tea.

A heady aroma
sharing post-nooky yawning,
life's simple treasures
on a sundayspringmorning.


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You were the cherry on my icing,
my sweet and sticky bun
until I was deserted
and now my love, that scone!

Lonely hearts ad

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Lonely hearts ad

Old man - slightly obsessive
Seeks other half - spotlessly clean
Age or good looks not a factor
But ideally responds to 'Hi, Jean.'

The honeymoon

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The honeymoon

With her ankles peripheral in vision,
The young man was set on his mission
To have and to hold
As in stories of old,
Cementing their love with a frisson.

Arable Romance

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Arable Romance

A farmer who's looking for love
Is keen, a young girl to enrapture
To share all his acres of land
And add to his coupling a tractor.

His ad in the lonely hearts says,
Landed gent, seeks a girl with X-factor,
Please enclose photo of you,
Or, better still, one of your tractor.


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Fresh sap is rising
in the trees,
sweet honey running
for the bees.
The birds are singing
in the breeze
and lovers all
have grass-stained knees.

For spring has sprung
it's in the air,
old Mother earth
lets down her hair
and pretty girls
with shoulders bare
will soon have need
of new pushchair.

A night in

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A night in
Jeremy took Joanne skating
Suggesting afterwards, they ate in;
With the hope, it might mean mating.

Agreeing, Joanne thought a date in
Could lead to romance worth 'A' rating
Deliveroo girl though was late in

Kept the young couple a-waiting,
Expecting for this, a berating
Received instead but mild placating.

Soon as they'd done masticating,
Parents came home, relegating
Their plans to the bin, frustrating

The press of time

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The press of time

If we were blessed with unlimited years,
none of times whispering press in our ears,
chance for reflection, to pause, take a breath,
no nagging thoughts of inevitable death.

My darling, I'd love you, at first from afar,
spend a Millenium admiring your star,
another light year before I told you
my feelings, enclosed in a sweet billet-doux.

Centuries more, I would take to describe
your beauty of which, long before I imbibe,
I'd gladly spend aeons, singing your praise,
decades explaining, you brighten my days.

Time though is short, for we all turn to dust,
live life while we can and must do what we must.
We both of us know that all things come to pass
So let's make some babies, here now - in this grass.

The old sofa

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The old sofa

If you could tell your tales, you would
have many things to say
about the people, bad and good
who over time did lay

along your padded, comfy length
to watch their latest soap,
relying on your springy strength
to sneak a naughty grope.

How much true passion have you seen,
discretely, you stay shtum
my faithful friend, that's why I'm keen
to simply park my bum.
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