Poetry – Page 128

Love Margin

we move
close to
the margin;
our love is wild.

awkwardly beckon
for her love to move
into the bushes

Crisp and cool,
cucumber love.

You’re brave venturing into the sunlight,
for it is not yet summer in your world.

Clumsily assembling the banana chair,
while neighbours take the whispering piss.

You look, sigh, and flash your bikini,
lounging in the 12-degree sunlight.

A wandering mind travels so far,
admiring your mineral collection.

Will we find planets like tourmaline?

My mind travels into the darkness,
hoping we find a place as Earth dies.

You never get over that love
that eats into your bones.

Such a love remains whole,
even when only dust remains.

The Curator
of ancient cutlery admires
the knives and forks.

Awake again at 2 am,
creating worlds and having visions.

I tell myself I should be myself,
yet there are so many
words in my mixed-up heart.

I’d rather wait for another hour
for the visions of Vikings;
then sleep and dream of terror.

solitary thoughts
night moves on
awaiting dawn
thinking of you
trees standstill
a bird sings alone

soon the washing will dry
tea towels will crinkle
fabrics will crimple
shirts will be naturally ironed
soon the sun will dry the washing