Wednesday 11 November 2015

1 New Poem

Kinetics

It’s one smooth motion of skin upon itself,
one glancing slip of colours complimentary,
Ceylonese oil portraits of grassland greenery,
of tea in Edwardian china we could have
a drink upon in sunray restraint;
all that and becalmed spirits still.

It’s fumbled in half-words, trapped braveries
that are forever tongue-tied lightness,
forever careful Catholic’s starched lip,
forever kindled warmth of hearth,
but I could picture Mitchell songs with you,
I could dream of Merchant-Ivory productions.

It’s all but key-turns, tumbling
silver hairpins, click-click stick
of laptop combinations; we don’t connect,
we spin coin dance of Moroccan tabletops
glinting in moonshine strength, lapping
repeat of water on graceless sand.

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