I prefer sleep ins to wake ups.
I prefer black coffee, cats and clothing.
I prefer fungi on my toast instead of my toes .
I prefer South Island grass, its soft fine strands nestling into my skin as I lie.
I prefer the sand in my socks instead of my sandwich.
I prefer the ocean from above. The memory of the rip back in ‘92 still froths the foam of fear in me.
I prefer company in the flesh and not pixilated and unreachable.
I prefer you call if you say you're going to. Delayed it just as shitty as forgotten.
I prefer singing in the car, wrapped in my freedom to boom cocoon.
I prefer darkness to be considered the absence of light and not the opposite.
I prefer hard liquor on occasion not cleanskins drunk frequently.
I’d prefer my bum to slowly decrease in size from now on.
I prefer recycled, revamped, reimagined, rehomed, replenished - none of this flash new trash crap. Only impounded pedigrees for me please.
I’d prefer that spider above my kitchen table to stop littering the remains of his feast for me to find when it’s my turn at the table.
Usually I find a leftover wing and body crumbs.
I’d prefer that spider move outside altogether.
I prefer sleep ins to wake ups, did I mention that already?