Outside it rains, pours down in sheets,
not unlike the ones we lie underneath.
Inside the boats, made up all of blue,
keeps Blockus players warm,
are toes hidden beneath leopard coloured spots.
The room is big enough
for all of us to laugh in,
air to breathe,
fourteen split into two;
not out of spite, just lacking
the will to move, worse that sloths
in these comfortable tangles.
Lethargy takes over us,
the picking of guitar strings
become a peaceful background bumble
like the air-con we never needed to have.
Once they all leave, though,
the human warmth has vanished.
No more humming, plucking tunes,
or glittering laughs and
crinkled summer eyes. No more
thoughts or hands at play.
The time for food is now,
so they have all gone away.
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