Look! Somewhere else again
the beautiful at play, two at least.
As new leaves inhabit shine
The setting barely matters. Strength
of their young Now, its vibrant Forever
firm, capable of anything. Forget all
concern. Smiles reflect
and guile loves innocence …
eyes bright with momentum
ignite love, so very deep.
Beauty to eat. Thighs butterfly
wet wounds at me
an old age away
glassy remove. Palm
out the distance
on morning trains of dirt-yellow grey.
Mind out, vision in, Voyeur
sees shoulder and neck, head
and face strained in loose skin
grey under oily sheen.
For now there is no motion but this.
No air con noise. Black hair
pooled on cotton sheets her fingers
nestle in white curls sprouting
from his big back. For now
her touch is dead.
The lines that slot their heads
side to side—eyes mutually closed,
hips thrust down and in—
fill the frame, the mirror
rippling out through the stillness
my reverie births, here,
by the hotel pool, clean, blue.
Alone in its sunned waters, at play,
two young nymphs reflecting
my imagination. Mine. Their men,
broad, overweight, over fifty,
waddle to poolside, cast words
into the air, share smiles.
What I know of this
I could fit on a postcard.
What I know shines back at me.
Fall forever into reflections.
God glitters in the pellucid pool,
there, of the washed pebbles, the wash
itself. Reach in
and He dissolves. If His Hand
is anything, it is the Shine touch kills.
Hypnotic meadow, colour’s vast expanse.
We fly at the sun’s reflective pane
forever busied missing it
by one impossible inch
as heat melts everything.
Today’s Inversion of Yeats - > Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon ...
14 hours ago