Comfy grey wool
Scratching pink cheeks
Warming nose and
Scrunching audibly
The eyelashes that I
Own. Pushing my mouth
Together in an aunty
Sort of way and under-
Neath this jumper, this
Scrumptious Cardi-da
I make friends with
My post-tea breath
As though it were a
Colourless lover. Just
Me, a peek-a-boo
Behind two hands.
The other side of which
War is waged on politics
A law is paged by loving
Scribes with listening eyes
A bunch of familiar family elites
That would make you writhe
A little bit make a husk
Of your outer pouter.
Us loveless as we are
Not lovers.
17.01.08
Eloise 
This has message at the end
about us not being lovers
of what?
reality as it is ?
or politics. . .
Its a comparison between feeling safe and not.
In the last few lines of the first verse there is a colourless lover
But then even that is gone.
We are loveless
as we have no lovers
I think this is playful too – the images from childhood take on a new mood with the serious and perhaps heavy handedness of adult life begins to intrude. I like it!
I mean that the world of politics, law, family elites threaten the self contained world of behind the cardigan where the self is protected and encountered in the breath – the colourless lover. No I really like this one. It would make a great song.