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Intermission

 
 
Softly you come in,
where the afternoon melts;
a sigh in step -
 
the ways to make you see,
expect what weeks
number out – the line
 
of summer fading on my back;
an orange press of glass
and the pour of your shoulder.
 
Our fingers twist in the cord;
the hiss of dark pursed
and stung on the lip, folding in sleeps
 
of purple snuffed smoke.
What charms these are
to brush the tired sands away -
 
almond strokes
and thick litmus colours,
a path up to Saturn
 
and his circling arms;
cures for what feathers behind
the eye still tick.
 
Leave the working streets,
the clock that rushes,
for cocooned – we are here to be.
 
 
 

◄ Discipline

The Ugly Sister ►

Comments

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Francine

Tue 13th Nov 2012 04:54

Lovely : )
Full of interesting and sentimental imagery!

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garside

Fri 9th Nov 2012 15:32

aye

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