<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<rdf:RDF xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#" xmlns:default="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:admin="http://webns.net/mvcb/" xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><default:channel xmlns="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:admin="http://webns.net/mvcb/" xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/" rdf:about="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/"><title>Red Hot Mama</title><link>http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/</link><description>     Candied words&#13;
&#13;
&#13;
&#13;
They fall straight to me&#13;
Buttery and smooth, heavy molten nuggets&#13;
At which I snatch&#13;
And those I catch I place under my tongue&#13;
Absorb their salty sweetness&#13;
Taste the words to come&#13;
The ones I miss they fall straight through&#13;
And roll out of my aura&#13;
Where without my tender care&#13;
they suddenly explode&#13;
in tiny whorls, right there&#13;
&#13;
</description><dc:language xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">en-UK</dc:language><admin:generatorAgent xmlns:admin="http://webns.net/mvcb/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#" rdf:resource="http://www.blog.co.uk"/><sy:updatePeriod xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/">hourly</sy:updatePeriod><sy:updateFrequency xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/">8</sy:updateFrequency><sy:updateBase xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/">2000-01-01T12:00+00:00</sy:updateBase><image><title>Red Hot Mama</title><link>http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/</link><url>http://data5.blog.de/design/preview/a4/21d7788487a7c3d12a918f137603cc_160x200.jpg</url></image><items><rdf:Seq><rdf:li rdf:resource="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/08/10/displacement~1029188/"/><rdf:li rdf:resource="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/07/19/too_many_pints~971747/"/><rdf:li rdf:resource="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/07/16/mistaken_identity~962733/"/><rdf:li rdf:resource="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/19/tropiic_fever~893855/"/><rdf:li rdf:resource="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/08/shopping_list~862832/"/><rdf:li rdf:resource="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/07/memory_lane~859778/"/><rdf:li rdf:resource="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/04/blind_date~853349/"/></rdf:Seq></items></default:channel><default:item xmlns:default="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" rdf:about="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/08/10/displacement~1029188/"><default:title>Displacement</default:title><default:link>http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/08/10/displacement~1029188/</default:link><dc:date xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">2006-08-10T16:59:47+02:00</dc:date><default:description>	&lt;p&gt;I looked under the sink last night&lt;br&gt;
And found to my surprise&lt;br&gt;
A half full bottle of shampoo&lt;br&gt;
Before my very eyes&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;A forlorn soap dish, tweezers, comb&lt;br&gt;
Nail brush and pumice pack&lt;br&gt;
A hundred ear buds in a stack&lt;br&gt;
To welcome her back home&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;A bag of brisk white cotton swabs&lt;br&gt;
Some crumpled billet doux&lt;br&gt;
A ladies razor, toothbrush (new)&lt;br&gt;
For her to come back to&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;Some sorbet coloured kiwi wash&lt;br&gt;
For sensory delight,&lt;br&gt;
A long black hair in a silver brush&lt;br&gt;
A rolled up pair of tights&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;And then I found an ear ring&lt;br&gt;
Zinc tablets, one full bottle&lt;br&gt;
An empty sex-toy cardboard box&lt;br&gt;
(he likes things at full throttle)&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;All her traces, all her tack&lt;br&gt;
All her stuff bereft&lt;br&gt;
She must have thought she would come back&lt;br&gt;
That fateful day she left&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;Remind me when I go away&lt;br&gt;
I must not leave a hint&lt;br&gt;
No grain nor drop, no whiff nor stain,&lt;br&gt;
No hair, nor piece of lint&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;No proof to show that I was here&lt;br&gt;
So fleeting in his arms&lt;br&gt;
So when he brings you to this bed&lt;br&gt;
There’s no trace of my charms&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt; &lt;small&gt; &lt;a href="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/08/10/displacement~1029188/#comments"&gt;Comments&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/small&gt; &lt;/p&gt;</default:description><content:encoded xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><![CDATA[	<p>I looked under the sink last night<br>
And found to my surprise<br>
A half full bottle of shampoo<br>
Before my very eyes</p>
	<p>A forlorn soap dish, tweezers, comb<br>
Nail brush and pumice pack<br>
A hundred ear buds in a stack<br>
To welcome her back home</p>
	<p>A bag of brisk white cotton swabs<br>
Some crumpled billet doux<br>
A ladies razor, toothbrush (new)<br>
For her to come back to</p>
	<p>Some sorbet coloured kiwi wash<br>
For sensory delight,<br>
A long black hair in a silver brush<br>
A rolled up pair of tights</p>
	<p>And then I found an ear ring<br>
Zinc tablets, one full bottle<br>
An empty sex-toy cardboard box<br>
(he likes things at full throttle)</p>
	<p>All her traces, all her tack<br>
All her stuff bereft<br>
She must have thought she would come back<br>
That fateful day she left</p>
	<p>Remind me when I go away<br>
I must not leave a hint<br>
No grain nor drop, no whiff nor stain,<br>
No hair, nor piece of lint</p>
	<p>No proof to show that I was here<br>
So fleeting in his arms<br>
So when he brings you to this bed<br>
There’s no trace of my charms</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/08/10/displacement~1029188/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>]]></content:encoded></default:item><default:item xmlns:default="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" rdf:about="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/07/19/too_many_pints~971747/"><default:title>Too Many Pints</default:title><default:link>http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/07/19/too_many_pints~971747/</default:link><dc:date xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">2006-07-19T15:16:25+02:00</dc:date><default:description>	&lt;p&gt;The taste of sadness&lt;br&gt;
Welling foaming bubbles of despair&lt;br&gt;
Too many pints&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;The trace of bitter tears&lt;br&gt;
Streaming down the glass&lt;br&gt;
A thousand wasted nights&lt;br&gt;
Too many pints&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;A thousand empty days,&lt;br&gt;
Glimpsed through the wet fog&lt;br&gt;
Of this endless moment&lt;br&gt;
Too many pints&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt; &lt;small&gt; &lt;a href="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/07/19/too_many_pints~971747/#comments"&gt;Comments&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/small&gt; &lt;/p&gt;</default:description><content:encoded xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><![CDATA[	<p>The taste of sadness<br>
Welling foaming bubbles of despair<br>
Too many pints</p>
	<p>The trace of bitter tears<br>
Streaming down the glass<br>
A thousand wasted nights<br>
Too many pints</p>
	<p>A thousand empty days,<br>
Glimpsed through the wet fog<br>
Of this endless moment<br>
Too many pints</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/07/19/too_many_pints~971747/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>]]></content:encoded></default:item><default:item xmlns:default="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" rdf:about="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/07/16/mistaken_identity~962733/"><default:title>Mistaken Identity</default:title><default:link>http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/07/16/mistaken_identity~962733/</default:link><dc:date xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">2006-07-16T08:24:25+02:00</dc:date><default:description>	&lt;p&gt;Who are they, those unwelcome guests&lt;br&gt;
Sneaking past the censor&lt;br&gt;
At the whiff of a party and too much rum&lt;br&gt;
Or the hint of a spliff, then they come&lt;br&gt;
Who are they, those crooks those vagabonds&lt;br&gt;
Loitering with bad intent&lt;br&gt;
 In the secret palaces&lt;br&gt;
Deep passages of my heart&lt;br&gt;
Waiting by the portal gates&lt;br&gt;
To sneak out and have fun&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;These undead, surly phantoms&lt;br&gt;
Along for the ride until Bam&lt;br&gt;
Centre stage they just erupt,&lt;br&gt;
Racing along without their leads&lt;br&gt;
In the stolen moments they’re free&lt;br&gt;
I’ve never even met them&lt;br&gt;
Only heard of their deeds by default&lt;br&gt;
The list of their crimes is enormous&lt;br&gt;
It’s a pity they seem to be me&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt; &lt;small&gt; &lt;a href="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/07/16/mistaken_identity~962733/#comments"&gt;Comments&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/small&gt; &lt;/p&gt;</default:description><content:encoded xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><![CDATA[	<p>Who are they, those unwelcome guests<br>
Sneaking past the censor<br>
At the whiff of a party and too much rum<br>
Or the hint of a spliff, then they come<br>
Who are they, those crooks those vagabonds<br>
Loitering with bad intent<br>
 In the secret palaces<br>
Deep passages of my heart<br>
Waiting by the portal gates<br>
To sneak out and have fun</p>
	<p>These undead, surly phantoms<br>
Along for the ride until Bam<br>
Centre stage they just erupt,<br>
Racing along without their leads<br>
In the stolen moments they’re free<br>
I’ve never even met them<br>
Only heard of their deeds by default<br>
The list of their crimes is enormous<br>
It’s a pity they seem to be me</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/07/16/mistaken_identity~962733/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>]]></content:encoded></default:item><default:item xmlns:default="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" rdf:about="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/19/tropiic_fever~893855/"><default:title>Tropiic Fever</default:title><default:link>http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/19/tropiic_fever~893855/</default:link><dc:date xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">2006-06-19T14:19:11+02:00</dc:date><default:description>	&lt;p&gt;Hideous to fall out of love&lt;br&gt;
When I fall out with me&lt;br&gt;
In the mirror then I see&lt;br&gt;
This huge square greenish blob&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;Decaying orbs, sick oysters&lt;br&gt;
Attempting to stare back&lt;br&gt;
There’s no one underneath the mask&lt;br&gt;
If I can hate myself this much&lt;br&gt;
What happens&lt;br&gt;
When I start&lt;br&gt;
To hate&lt;br&gt;
You.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt; &lt;small&gt; &lt;a href="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/19/tropiic_fever~893855/#comments"&gt;Comments&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/small&gt; &lt;/p&gt;</default:description><content:encoded xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><![CDATA[	<p>Hideous to fall out of love<br>
When I fall out with me<br>
In the mirror then I see<br>
This huge square greenish blob</p>
	<p>Decaying orbs, sick oysters<br>
Attempting to stare back<br>
There’s no one underneath the mask<br>
If I can hate myself this much<br>
What happens<br>
When I start<br>
To hate<br>
You.</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/19/tropiic_fever~893855/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>]]></content:encoded></default:item><default:item xmlns:default="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" rdf:about="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/08/shopping_list~862832/"><default:title>Shopping List</default:title><default:link>http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/08/shopping_list~862832/</default:link><dc:date xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">2006-06-08T13:41:42+02:00</dc:date><default:description>	&lt;p&gt;                   Shopping List&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;Will I feel it when he kisses me&lt;br&gt;
Will my heart beat twice then flutter and turn&lt;br&gt;
And then beat twice again&lt;br&gt;
		Will I feel it?&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Soap&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;Will I feel it when his lips leave a trail of angel dust upon my cheek&lt;br&gt;
Sparking up dead cells, deranging hormones, melting dreams&lt;br&gt;
		Will I feel it?&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Cabbage&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;Will I feel it as he kissed my throat pressed soft lips&lt;br&gt;
against my pulse will he hear my frenzied heart,&lt;br&gt;
And when those magic fingers stroke my breast&lt;br&gt;
		Will I feel it?&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Potatoes&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;Will I feel it as he gently puts his hand upon my waist&lt;br&gt;
And leaves it there&lt;br&gt;
And looks into my eyes and knows&lt;br&gt;
		Will I feel it? &lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Berries&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;Will I feel it when he comes behind&lt;br&gt;
His hot hand upon my back&lt;br&gt;
Rumbles gently in my ear&lt;br&gt;
		Will I feel it?&lt;br&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Apples&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;Will I feel in the hairs&lt;br&gt;
Of my neck and my ears swell reddening&lt;br&gt;
 When those hairs prick up will I&lt;br&gt;
		Will I feel it?&lt;br&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Peaches&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;Will I feel it if he then places both his arms around my breasts&lt;br&gt;
Gently clasps my pliant body gainst his chest,&lt;br&gt;
 his rugged manly self&lt;br&gt;
		Will I feel it?&lt;br&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Plums&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;When I touch him and hear his breathing quicken&lt;br&gt;
 will I feel it&lt;br&gt;
And see his face flush and his eyes drown with desire&lt;br&gt;
		Will I feel it?&lt;br&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Grapes&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;Will I feel it as he pressed a long strong thigh against my dimpled hips&lt;br&gt;
And rubbed against a secret place&lt;br&gt;
Long lost abandoned dispossessed&lt;br&gt;
		Will I feel it?&lt;br&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Wine&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;Will I feel it, will I feel it as I swoon in his embrace&lt;br&gt;
Tender skin scraped raw with tough rough&lt;br&gt;
Riding screaming had enough at last&lt;br&gt;
		Will I feel it?&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Condoms&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt; &lt;small&gt; &lt;a href="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/08/shopping_list~862832/#comments"&gt;Comments&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/small&gt; &lt;/p&gt;</default:description><content:encoded xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><![CDATA[	<p>                   Shopping List</p>
	<p>Will I feel it when he kisses me<br>
Will my heart beat twice then flutter and turn<br>
And then beat twice again<br>
		Will I feel it?</p>
	<p><em>Soap</em></p>
	<p>Will I feel it when his lips leave a trail of angel dust upon my cheek<br>
Sparking up dead cells, deranging hormones, melting dreams<br>
		Will I feel it?</p>
	<p><em>Cabbage</em></p>
	<p>Will I feel it as he kissed my throat pressed soft lips<br>
against my pulse will he hear my frenzied heart,<br>
And when those magic fingers stroke my breast<br>
		Will I feel it?</p>
	<p><em>Potatoes</em></p>
	<p>Will I feel it as he gently puts his hand upon my waist<br>
And leaves it there<br>
And looks into my eyes and knows<br>
		Will I feel it? </p>
	<p><em>Berries</em></p>
	<p>Will I feel it when he comes behind<br>
His hot hand upon my back<br>
Rumbles gently in my ear<br>
		Will I feel it?<br>
<em>Apples</em></p>
	<p>Will I feel in the hairs<br>
Of my neck and my ears swell reddening<br>
 When those hairs prick up will I<br>
		Will I feel it?<br>
<em>Peaches</em></p>
	<p>Will I feel it if he then places both his arms around my breasts<br>
Gently clasps my pliant body gainst his chest,<br>
 his rugged manly self<br>
		Will I feel it?<br>
<em>Plums</em></p>
	<p>When I touch him and hear his breathing quicken<br>
 will I feel it<br>
And see his face flush and his eyes drown with desire<br>
		Will I feel it?<br>
<em>Grapes</em></p>
	<p>Will I feel it as he pressed a long strong thigh against my dimpled hips<br>
And rubbed against a secret place<br>
Long lost abandoned dispossessed<br>
		Will I feel it?<br>
<em>Wine</em></p>
	<p>Will I feel it, will I feel it as I swoon in his embrace<br>
Tender skin scraped raw with tough rough<br>
Riding screaming had enough at last<br>
		Will I feel it?</p>
	<p><em>Condoms</em></p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/08/shopping_list~862832/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>]]></content:encoded></default:item><default:item xmlns:default="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" rdf:about="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/07/memory_lane~859778/"><default:title>Memory Lane</default:title><default:link>http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/07/memory_lane~859778/</default:link><dc:date xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">2006-06-07T10:06:19+02:00</dc:date><default:description>	&lt;p&gt;Lead me to my memory lane&lt;br&gt;
Edged in pretty flowers&lt;br&gt;
Chocolate box desires&lt;br&gt;
Heady scents of love&lt;br&gt;
                to make you swoon&lt;br&gt;
All drenched in beauty&lt;br&gt;
lured to spires of gaudy blooms&lt;br&gt;
Behind their lurid fumes&lt;br&gt;
                the fetid stink of biers&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;I stumble in the fumble of their undergrowth&lt;br&gt;
Pain flowers sweet&lt;br&gt;
               A barbed white rose&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;White climber tumbled in your heart&lt;br&gt;
quick thorns to pierce and strangle your desire &lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;Seeking pearls of wisdom midst the thorny tangles&lt;br&gt;
Bony spikes of hurt&lt;br&gt;
The present loses savor&lt;br&gt;
              And tainted dirt of yesterdreams&lt;br&gt;
clings dusty to my tongue&lt;br&gt;
The florid sun dries up the longing for some fun&lt;br&gt;
Down memory lane&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt; &lt;small&gt; &lt;a href="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/07/memory_lane~859778/#comments"&gt;Comments&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/small&gt; &lt;/p&gt;</default:description><content:encoded xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><![CDATA[	<p>Lead me to my memory lane<br>
Edged in pretty flowers<br>
Chocolate box desires<br>
Heady scents of love<br>
                to make you swoon<br>
All drenched in beauty<br>
lured to spires of gaudy blooms<br>
Behind their lurid fumes<br>
                the fetid stink of biers</p>
	<p>I stumble in the fumble of their undergrowth<br>
Pain flowers sweet<br>
               A barbed white rose</p>
	<p>White climber tumbled in your heart<br>
quick thorns to pierce and strangle your desire </p>
	<p>Seeking pearls of wisdom midst the thorny tangles<br>
Bony spikes of hurt<br>
The present loses savor<br>
              And tainted dirt of yesterdreams<br>
clings dusty to my tongue<br>
The florid sun dries up the longing for some fun<br>
Down memory lane</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/07/memory_lane~859778/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>]]></content:encoded></default:item><default:item xmlns:default="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" rdf:about="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/04/blind_date~853349/"><default:title>Blind date</default:title><default:link>http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/04/blind_date~853349/</default:link><dc:date xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">2006-06-04T16:17:04+02:00</dc:date><default:description>	&lt;p&gt;    Blind Date&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;please don’t touch me&lt;br&gt;
I’ll explode your&lt;br&gt;
fingertip will spark&lt;br&gt;
a sudden flash&lt;br&gt;
that leaves a smoking heap of ash&lt;br&gt;
the smouldering ruins of me&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;leave me to&lt;br&gt;
the savage beauty of my madness, my despair&lt;br&gt;
please don’t touch me there&lt;br&gt;
fissures yawning wider&lt;br&gt;
just underneath my hair&lt;br&gt;
revealing cold debris of days&lt;br&gt;
of rough nights on the couch&lt;br&gt;
please don’t touch&lt;/p&gt;
	&lt;p&gt;else I’ll be frantic for the light&lt;br&gt;
my resurrection&lt;br&gt;
in the small bleak hours to scrub&lt;br&gt;
away the stink of&lt;br&gt;
You&lt;br&gt;
don’t&lt;br&gt;
touch&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt; &lt;small&gt; &lt;a href="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/04/blind_date~853349/#comments"&gt;Comments&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/small&gt; &lt;/p&gt;</default:description><content:encoded xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><![CDATA[	<p>    Blind Date</p>
	<p>please don’t touch me<br>
I’ll explode your<br>
fingertip will spark<br>
a sudden flash<br>
that leaves a smoking heap of ash<br>
the smouldering ruins of me</p>
	<p>leave me to<br>
the savage beauty of my madness, my despair<br>
please don’t touch me there<br>
fissures yawning wider<br>
just underneath my hair<br>
revealing cold debris of days<br>
of rough nights on the couch<br>
please don’t touch</p>
	<p>else I’ll be frantic for the light<br>
my resurrection<br>
in the small bleak hours to scrub<br>
away the stink of<br>
You<br>
don’t<br>
touch</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://yemshog.blog.co.uk/2006/06/04/blind_date~853349/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>]]></content:encoded></default:item></rdf:RDF>
