The symmetry of was
the memory of body
the last kiss that raped the future
Industrial
pedestrian love
it wasn’t
but fine
like a thread of honey
and rough as beard
That was a long time ago
(a stranger lifts a glass of wine)
‘to passion over power, to trust over fear’
to re-inspire the fresh cut flower
we plant her seeds
and wait a year
and then a year
and then and then
another
When, with dawn
and bare arms unfolding
she rises
the pattern of her limbs returns
the shape of her head on the pillow
and her smile
not careful now but
quick and wide
In itself
a portion of the sun