here is a something I wrote

I wrote it quite a while ago. Anyway. My girlfriend didn't think much of it, but still:

In my dreams my favourite ice-cream
Tastes like a bad hangover
And the faster I run from the monster
Of course I go slower and slower
And I miss by a second the familiar bus
That goes to the house of my lover
And when I do get there in the end
I find her dead in the shower.

At this point, I wake up, check that she's still breathing, and turn over.
And she turns too, looking like an angel, my otherwise psychotic significant other.

When I tell her about it in the morning, she takes out her Jungian de-coder.
The monster is easy: it's obviously my over-controlling mother.
The ice-cream is our sex-life, the less said about it the better
And as for "missing the bus" - she's been trying to expain that to me forever.
She frowns for a bit over her dramatic Hotchkokian murder,
And then says I should "talk more about stuff", not fantasise about killing her.

I watch her get ready for work, mentally kissing each little toe and finger
I would never never want you dead, my irreplacable, wonderful lover.

It took this long for my computer to be repaired.
Well the monsoon is here. No more watering the plants. My adenium bulbosa died because of natural over-watering, It was left out while I was away on holiday.
The monsoon means: drying clothes under fans, frequently upset stomachs if not actually full-blown gastroenteritis, quite nice mid-afternoon sex if it's raining and you're on holiday and the most gorgeous woman in the world is lying peacefully with you on a huge double bed with her light, flexible body wrapped around yours, both of you half asleep...
Monsoon in the hills - another world! Why did we ever come back?