There is a throb of chorus, deep and lovely,
Summoning langour like a drug.
A flick of the wrist and your knucklebone heart
Tugged us here.
Countless tiny blooms, beyond my lexicon,
Drift like snow, gentling the root-hump,
Switchback glade,
As the bees pay court.
Your eyes, first wide with pride,
Now narrow in lazy pleasure,
All heavy with satisfaction.
“I told you,” they say.
You let my wrist fall as we cleared the glade,
Running to the centre to whirl,
Your hair spun sugar for a moment
A monument defying gravity.
In the infinite softness
Beyond the straight lines of the rose gardens,
The mentored, fencelike foliage,
We rock gently, murmurs shattered into sticky shards
We suck honey from petals’ curve,
Lick moments from the earthscent air
Decorate ourselves with grass stains,
Awaken tenderness with texture.
And as you slumber, drifting like the wildflowers.
I weave along the twilight edges
Too raw for sleep, restless with excess
Haunting the margins step by sacred step.
I know now I will always feel the weight of you
In the scent of summer leafmould
And there will always be a corner of my world
Untouched by blade, where the nameless blossoms froth.
When in doubt, I summon up inspiration from the Random Line Generator. The trick is to at least reference, if not outright use, all of them. I don’t think this is finished, but I was glad to be able to crack something out with an incipient migraine at the end of a git of a week and after a late show.
And, if you were wondering, the words I got given were “langour wildflower snow sugar flower twilight ghosts mildew honey” So you can see there was a bit of cheating... :)
No comments:
Post a Comment