Monday, 9 September 2013

1 New Poem

Other Intoxicants

I don't know if ever you noticed
my recoiling from touch, when
I thought about embrace, sweeping of
feet over thresholds of picket fence places,
stove-hot reflex set apart for us.

Let from youthful ventures too, hat pin
prick suffocating childhood amusements,
it seemed a cause settling between us;
never needed a noisy dance floor to feel lonely,
never needed these Hollywood loves.

But, oh, to drink of your polished
poison, bitter flower fruit, names
in handwritten script on Waterford crystal;
I should call it the marvel of rare spirit,
swallowed, caution lacking, enthused as I manage.

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