Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney

Not sure about this one

Much of this is the product of this afternoon's migraine and listening to a lot of Bat for Lashes.
I think it varies the tone of the overall collection, nicely, and has imagery I like.

But, like I say,

Things there was no time for
no money for
no reality for
things to do together.

Being twin emerald sparks
endlessly bouncing
between the billion facets
of a giant ruby
somewhere in the orbit of Jupiter
wittily recursive
in infinite time.

not twinned
liger and tigon
chasing balls of string
across the tops
of tottering piles
of gold brocade
with sapphire peacock eyes
our claws skittering
pulling out costly threads.

Shattered images
in kaleidoscope combinations
of every gesture
each grimace of love
slowed and dissected
like the horse that jumps
its leap an endless reach of legs
our legs wrapped round us
like acrobats
our lips locked
velvet caught by static

played in a Mozart duo
in a Versailles
where the mirrors spout water
and the fountains endless drops of mirror
where the dead queen
strolls swinging
her head like a tart's handbag
by the bloodstained rattails of its powdered hair.

None of these ecstasies

sitting cross-legged
or entwined
on the floor
on the bed
sharing pizza
in our fingers
the towels
in which we greeted the delivery boy
discarded somewhere in the hall
smearing grease
of double pepporoni
triple cheese
on the sheets
on our breasts
licking tomato grease

Walking the heath
throwing sticks
for other people's dogs.
Sitting by the pond
watching ducks
and moorhens
paddling and going nowhere
in the quiet stillness
of Sunday late morning
after long nights
and no breakfast.

in some bar
with silly cocktails
you got the barman to invent
listening to lounge jazz
sleaze piano
lazy horns
passion black and white
and noir
so noir
you femme fatale
me sassy broad.

the thing I miss
not sex, or touch of flesh
but hearing laughter
in the next room
or splashing from the shower
or lying in bed
straightening out
the newspapers
hearing the kettle and the chink of mugs
just before you bring me tea
yours with two sugars
mine with none.

Things we could do
things we did
things we had time for
made time for
not enough.
Tags: poetry ashleigh desire surreal
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