in his mind he monopolised her

he thought of her as a thimble,
an accessory to the embroidered avoidance of him
(a right sew-and-sew, in fact)

he saw her as a boot,
toe-capping him in the piccadillies
until the waterworks came

he dreamt of her as a battleship,
imperiously floating upon the waves,
dreading nought but the sight of him

he supposed her shaped like a racecar
a palindromic mnemonic, a madam,
an avid diva (ergo, ogre)

he imagined her as an iron,
pressing down upon him
with a flattening that got him nowhere

he pictured her as a wheelbarrow
carrying the load of him through the streets,
heading for the nearest futility

he fancied her as a top hat,
too classy by half, forbidding him entry
to her private Park Lane

he dreamt he was her scottie dog
trotting alongside her, hoping to be thrown
a marylebone of contention

but she never did

he merely languished in the jail of her indifference,
never passing go

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