Without natural struggle we create our own,
For want of drive, like bees to hive – and similarly drone.
Honey sweet, our meat was canker thought, dog in the dew.
Tongue lolled to side, victim viscid – breaks down in front of you.
I saw you then, beat and battered, frenzy in the eye,
Perfect picture petals, photo-real and stymied by another broken tie.
Do you not regard me as a lyrebird does it’s mate?
Dance and dart, imitate sweet love and mimic hate.Follow @paddywords