your lap where all my
dreams are met
where your rose water
moves you in circles
of delirium.
Where you push
back against me
where my boy-
hood got mixed up
with life.
The sky outside
is crying again
as tomorrows
weeping children
lean out of the shadows
of brutality.
Episodes of you -
battalions
of you engulf me
wave after wave
like
medieval battles
hand to
hand.
And you defeat
me
push your
lance right
through my
heart
and now I
look up
my
head in your
lap –
defeated in love.
meet in our secret lane
you - beautiful and naked under your
simple shift dress.
Hold me hostage in this moment where
arms crossed you slip out
of your clothes - creamy skin
the treasure of your breasts.
Capture me as I pull off my jeans
tear off my T – Shirt naked
ready for us as I lay
you down.
Make love with me amongst the
Dog violets and Cecile
Where clouds of Hawthorn blossom
meet your heavenly gaze.
Remember this always as
unhindered by your everyday -
life – you laugh and slumber
in this our sultry dance.
Linger in this stolen moment as fertile as
the month - walk away from
me full of our love with new life –
our own white cloud
growing within.
Your back arcs in ecstasy
As thunder clouds hide behind
Ancient Mountains
Your eyes glorious Gazanias
As the nib
Of me navigates you
Searching – searching
I scallop your bottom
Thirsting in this
River of my desire
An arid lusting
As Jets leave your nail marks
In the sky
And this is for me a
Selfish sustenance
My cravings - this lascivious 
hunger
For you my love
For you.
Your waiting on the ridge
of Callow Top swaying in
the Holt.
The new Moon caresses
you with a promise
of tomorrow.
The sweet smell of your
blossom enriches me -
enters me.
As the blanket of our open
meadow unfolds for -
us.
In the darkness - snowy
Whitethorn embraces
Laburnum in nature’s
hustings.
Whilst even the virgin
white flowers of Nettles
entice me in.
Was that you
the low morning
Sun, shimmering in the
glade,
smiling?
Was that you
a chill chasing up
my spine, a wild Orchid
in the breeze,
swaying?
Was that you
a brilliant
Red Admiral
fluttering
just two inches
from my face
dancing?
Was that you
my little
girl
always
nine years old
nine years old,
was that you?
There was violence in her legs
it resonated up her spine fed the
synapses in her brain fell from the
edges of her mouth shot from her eyes.
A stifled suppressed violence
blanketed by darkness and lore.
‘With my body I thee worship’.
She had no choice but to endure
this violation –her husband’s
want – he reads her signals all wrong
the anger. Something else she hates -
the way her body reacts wet lubricated
but reluctant-willing? Animalistic even?
He rolls off - farts and wipes himself on
grubby sheets while she quietly weeps into
her pillow, pulls down her nightgown her
knees up, as his semen runs from her and she
wants it out of her;
OUT! OUT! OUT!
This the night of my conception.
Weeks later she attempts to kill me.
Gin and Knitting needles a red 
hot bath
stabbing, piercing, lancinating through her
cervix, a devastated crying, weeping drunk,
sweating in bloodstained water, those long
cruel devastating, size six knitting needles.
Can’t even afford the two pounds for back
street Annie.
Yet I grew on. Another nine months gone
and she’s so very scared as Aunty Pat wipes
the sweat from her brow as this - a simple
berth in some back room naturally takes it’s
course….
“It’s a bonny lad Edna…and he’s
all right - he’ll be alright Edna, he’s ok – fine,
he’ll be alright….. he will!”
And I’m number five child, one other
dead - stillborn - there’s two more to
go and many more nights of violence
and violation. But never - never again
knitting needles or hot baths. The
occasional Gin though – call it survival
also helps with the guilt call it anaesthetic.
**“Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sadness and in joy, to cherish and continually bestow upon him your heart’s deepest devotion, forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto him as long as you both shall live?
The rain gently patters on the
Windows-
Whispering your
Sweet secrets as
Our long afternoon seems
Stalled in beauty-
This Beauty of You.
And your smile is a
Chorus of all
Your wondrous being
Singing just for
Me-
Just me.
So if I could capture our
Moment in some Jar
Screw down this moment
For us – for eternity -
To re-visit again and again-
Then I would.
Instead of witnessing
This beauty like the
Delicacy
Of Magnolia Blossom
So enriching and yet so
Fleeting
And duly
Gone!
