swings and roundabouts
like a crash test dummy
humming a christmas song
i guess i feel like i’m one of the uncles
from home alone
all our kisses are stolen
kids voices climb the stairs
white hairs in my moustache
catch the light in the morning mirror
visit the folly hotel of portmeirion
lily pads and various trees
a beach that doesn’t reach the sea
sleep in and miss the hike
overdosed on the house party life
portmeirion is a weird place. i got an ice cream. looked at the vast beach. thought about cockle related tragedies. in a way, every cockle collected is a small tragedy. for the delicious cockle.
the love epochal. n.n. benn 