This skew-framed window could be in a church.
Beyond it there are damply shaded tufts and folds;
further yet, the serpent-grass in dreams...

you insinuate (sss!), we intertwine;
one somnolent thigh pressed, one arm crushing-thick;
our flesh as fat as cream on wine, the air is sweet with wet.

Scibbled sickles cling to your slow neck...
I wake and the heat remains
like an electric summer with the tang-manna of mangoes,
and the quiet is a drink.

Wind-chimes make benedictions-
Did I ever see your slow sloe polished eyes,
or just your ponderous slopes spiralling?

Outside is eternal with this cock-holiness, this cleft-sadness.
The currents on the canes bite red and sharp,
the underswathes of willows powdered pearl.

An afterbreeze churns up and I wonder...
wherever did this lusty summer come from?
Each sweating day is straddled by the next...
one briney belly cradled by the other.