Peace Gardens Poem
Lets say you are the sun
and so, you warm me
caressing my skin
with sunnier fingers
and lips that linger deliciously
on the throat. Then this is bliss;
the hug so tight,
the wetness of your kiss.
The things I'll miss:
seeing you knotted in laughter;
and the cat calls;
that tug of invisible elastic
that twangs when your
heart beats;
the feel of your hair, preened;
the sea in your eyes,
that iridescence of blue-green heaven
in which my sanity swims
safe from the sharks
from their scissor jaws
and the histories I have written
with the days of my life.
But this is nice,
vodka and ice
you are my sweet intoxication
the hanger upon which
I rest the shabby rags
of all my yesterdays;
the rock upon which
I hammer in the stays
of hope for better things:-
a parcel wrapped in arms and legs
and skin whose warmth is yours
in winter when the blankets
on our bed will seem a little thin.
I hope I'm him.
The one who'll father Mel'n'Reg,
who'll rub that sticky ointment in
who'll scratch your itches
who'll launder out his soul
to see you dressed
in love's finest stitches.
Does this seem real?
Life is just a transitory wheel
and moments such as these
burst like bubbles
or else fly off like birds
and leave you empty,
starving.
Life's absurdity is the sneer
that kills the smiles.
But, whilst I have you
for a while,
eat out my heart
for it is yours.
Peace Gardens, Sheffield
20th May 1996
