My loves for you
are
a straight line
unfurled
like a plaster bandage
from a plinth
with a glass tank on it.
The light
falls
on your perforated
sieve like skin
allowing a muslinesque
peek
to the other side
of your shadow.
My love,
I want to pick you up
and reveal the folding curves
…To investigate the gauze
of your gaze
as you pretend
to me
to be,
my muse
and I used
to live in a mews
in Islington.
How many wounds
have you
cleansed and wrapped
with your light
hair of chalk?
Cascading
from your glass tower.
You were once a straight line
and now…
…I see you,
in the weeping wilderness
of no tomorrow,
I see
your hidden profile
and sensual smirk
in the
undulating volume
of milky pastures
absorbing air deeply
and cast in sunlight,
come with me now…
Come with me
to the world’s
horizon,
where the ebb and flow
can no longer be contained.
Let us make art
with pieces of string
from one side of the sea
to another
where the horizontal
lies precariously,
touching the edge
of the water.
