Picture by Banksy
trouble, trouble,boils and bubbles
with the bedroom tax, a storm is brewing
and the government making their friends rich,
while making the rest of us poor,
with their voices of capital they try to drown our
Time for some love making, time to keep warm,
feel the touch and comfort of raptures arms,
taste and feel the anchor of love,
that makes their power redundant,
in acts of unconditional embrace,
roaring wild in the evenings taste.
Surrender to gentle heartbeat,
that simultaneously melt and mend,
in the morning awake,
paint the days with the pulse of passion,
follow ports of possibility,
a million hearts beating in resistance.
We make buds,
then petals, then leafs.
in the other
we struggle on,
hand on hand,
shoulder to shoulder,
draw breath, reach out,
resusicate hungry mouths.
Ah, it's a beautiful feeling,
this thing called love.