Friday, 3 April 2009

A L O V E P O E M - Francesca Lisette

Star-pressed heat locked in where breath
is utterly / useless: hurled steel
cut against coral bleach
judged a lash out at perfume, shy in cups.
By & by yawning ochre
comes a germination or sod; houses
threaten to invert their dimensions,
slip by flesh-coloured.

You here, tracer, I can feel the precise
count of paces : yellow smoke
vanishes over fist into fucked air -
ripe for placement, a screaming butterfly
zones in on my brow's soft seal
dripping at the red's recant.
prised off my eyelash, set to snarl.

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