Wednesday, 13 June 2012

• A Year on the Moon

  Once upon this afternoon,

  Before the other bull

  Played his half-dried tunes,

  I was sitting at zebra table

  And ever the distracted you,

  Back-turned unwittingly

  Gave me something new.

   

  In your well strange innocence,

  A roaming hand revealed

  A slip of skin so white as sinless,

  Beneath the crimson cloth cover.

  And what a strange idea is this!

  None, for I had thought it.

  Underneath those bitter wits

   

  I imagine clear sugar, somewhere, downtrodden.

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