Saturday, 21 June 2025

She's turned the wee'us against us

 My dog sighs

My dark days, 

My temptress

My moment of bliss.

When the beat hits.

When we close the curtains

On Sunday.

And then when we are swopping sims, 

As we ran out of battery.

Like a lottery,

No one wants to admit its Sunday.

Who's phoning in sick on Monday?

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