Observed from the top
          of the horse-and-cart.
                    Naked, with a
                                                  curved set &
dimples; in a Quaker hat,
pulling on the rumour
                                                  reins you noose

 

the decision & it laughs to you.
          Romance, take hold
                    of her bruised
                                                  calling to life
clutches to her mouth
the last attempt at
                                                  breathing

 

Drowning divides us, like good
          art. Cannot fish the two
                    as one mesh
                                                  laboured
dark and your scandal.
Sensual power is better,
                                                  loose the net

 

black and bring it back
          full of our red lips
                    longings &
                                                  attempts
at chastity, which mock us;
even in earnest the disparity
                                                  mocks us.

Copyright © Marianne Morris, 2004.