No, that's not how Mr. Salamander would sleep. He'd lay flat as a pat.
He won't get up to pee, nor sip water afterwards.
A pure quake - sweat gathering on dorsal palms - an awful jolt - nothing.
A man lays dying; or, fast asleep.
Please don't ask me any further.
I have to cross worlds for language and grammar in this dead of the night.
Where am I brought?
A pure quake - sweat gathering on dorsal palms - an awful jolt - nothing.
A man lays dying; or, fast asleep.
Please don't ask me any further.
I have to cross worlds for language and grammar in this dead of the night.
Where am I brought?
Dreadful snorting, chomping, howling, empty gurgling:
Guards pacing at the gates of Hell? Pigs and wolves wearing armour?
It's the man and wife snoring.
Guards pacing at the gates of Hell? Pigs and wolves wearing armour?
It's the man and wife snoring.
You've thoroughly lost your voice
like the contents of Mr. Salamander's toolbox or better, his voice-box.
Eyes, eyes, how you hurt me, yellow and glum! Who will dunk you back into sleep?
like the contents of Mr. Salamander's toolbox or better, his voice-box.
Eyes, eyes, how you hurt me, yellow and glum! Who will dunk you back into sleep?
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Picture Credits: Not me |
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