Yorkshire Gothic

I wanted to tarry by
 the lychgate of my lady's thighs
but she said Nyet
in resounding tones
clear as a church bell
And it hurts like Hell

 

    

Now the genderfluid emo goose

walks through the graveyard

of my mind

 

 

The rain pours through a hole

in the roof of St Beefburga's

The Reverend Wimpy

raises his fists to the heavens

as he wails in despair

Could this cloister

get any moister?

 

 

But you cannot fault his altarwork

at the Midnight Quatermass

as he takes sly sips

from a hipflask

of Soylent Green Chartreuse

 

 

B.R. 04/02/2016

 

(Drawing of Emo Goose by Miss Rowan Ross)