23rd December 2013

Sonnet 51

Sleeping at the wheel's my motoring offence,

One careful laydee driver's sex drive speed

Round the domestic circuit to and thence -

It's  dissatisfying  Him Indoors' need.

Lascivious wee texts begin to find

Their way to him since her steerage went  slow,

His moby whistles (it's not in your mind):

Starter's orders (you are the last to know).

I've been running at panto horse pace,

 Mrs.Me at the arseblind end who made

Love for love's sake a fight to the death race,

Ears pricked  for lovers' whistles (Shakespeare's jade).

    "They're just for sex, not love..." God you're soooo slow -

     They're just waiting for this old nag to go.