They’re no use: the obtuse
facts have nothing to do
but twiddle their thumbs and,
hum in the dark.
*
Our love is mute
as the moon tears
the lilac sky
with her horn;
adorns the void
between us –
mere idea
in the womb.
In this early phase
we’re 9 times
more likely to conceive
some fabulous
thing no Man
can imagine. Our kiss
too is twice
as nice and as
hot at night,
on the eve of a new
working week,
rising to 2.2
in summer.
It’s true. Your thighs
loosed, and your eyes,
found a darker shade
of blue. You sighed,
turned to one side
and the scent
of broom
found the gap
in the crack
of the pane and came
into the room.
In the heat of it
all, I saw
Saturnine rings,
as the Martian
fire crowned the stars
of Libra.
That might not be solid
fact either, but who cares
when years from now
beneath the white
light of a full moon,
there’s a 1 in 25
shot you’ll take a stroll,
stop to fill the hole
in your head with stones
and plunge like a stone
in the river? No-one
saw , but a man
out with his dog
thinks he heard some
wild call.
I’d just turned
the television off,
looked at the clock
and peered at the gaps
between the stars.
In the morning, you’re
nothing at all, and I
half that, which is
no kind of fact,
but so?
true.
thanks John. i’m glad cos i wanted it to be spare and lovely.
On form here; spare and lovely
thank you very much Peter!
Must be one of my favourite moon descriptions ever here:
Our love is mute
as the moon tears
the lilac sky
with her horn;
adorns the void
between us –
What a beautiful wandering narrative of the imagination, Marco. Bellissimo!