Pleasure Ground
the small of her back a silky polygon
sits in a painting of a Gris or a Braque
on a still afternoon
Venus' dimples
on the small of her back
sway into an obtuse angle
a metronome pulse eighty beats per minute
inside a topography of coral-lined tablecloths
glasses embrace
almond and carob liqueur
the carafe d'eau looks on
wall edges facing plates
windows reflect grounds outside, tobacco streets
meander sober buildings and the next metro
from pore to pore
like punctuation
grounds pleasure
with tender geometry
Shoreditch, October 2015
Ah! Legs entwined this blue morning,
pumpkin walls, sheets, curtains, windows
we gaze at spires, finger papers, sit in TXs’, mouth May-fairs
city-soles in a hurry syruping pavements
an array of faces
new kingdoms, or old for sale or to let
fresh bread rolls, tired wooden shutters stir a makeover,
turf against turf
brick against brick
bespoke spaces sit on seized grounds
as Murdock’s barbers groom the Owl and the Pussycat
Albion’s omelettes feed domestic hunger,
a breather in the park clears away tension
whatever it takes
todays sweet talk tomorrows
Twelve inky years
That night
twelve inky years and
a violet suit ago
amid lapels, white blouse, laced collar
your body sapped by the eight-thirty-breath
was called to leave
gathering the sound of the last tide
Nothing was planned
everything was planned
Foliage
old and young, witnesses once again,
as the final flicker went missing past the golden hour
into thin October air, groans escaping
the frayed ropes of womanhood
soared
towards the next ride,
your body folded into slim-chances
muted lips, pastel skin, a country unpossessed
That night
twelve inky years and
a violet suit ago
Everything was planned
nothing was planned
A dash of summer
have you tasted
the bounty
she offers?
delicacies on golden plates
laid out on soft green beds
served daily
just for you
flavours of dew
unfurl in zesty dawns
mosaic murals
teasing your every whim
of course!
you do so,
day
and night
your senses
swim across town,
you relish
the warm season's
palate on your skin,
ravishing sounds
of Pink Martini,
echoing laughter
into sizzles of time
a frenzied you
relishing
a frenzied you
savouring every o’clock