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Winter has sucked the landscape

back to black and white

but in the glass house

the world is plump and curved,

full of juice and spectrums.

We sit on the edge

of the savage garden

where tropical flowers

shred the light with their teeth.

The steamy scent

of sap and green life

soaks through our coats

and makes us sweat.

In her...

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 OOps, can't make it link! You'll have to cut and paste...sorry!

www.poetcasting.co.uk/?p=154

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He could charm the poison out of fox gloves

and used his skills to quicken my heart.

I wondered what he fed on: frayed liturgies

and the secret dreams of women,

toxic spores translated into messages

of lust, slivers of the dank March sky

rolled up like pickled herring.

I never knew. He always skimmed me,

left me hooked on some potent pollen,

some sacrificial line,

some ...

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I am holding it effortlessly steady

like a gliding waiter balancing a tray

of quail's eggs and salmon souffle

on his horizontal palm.

I am dexterously carrying it up three flights of stairs

without stubbing my toes or splitting my fingernails,

without chipping paint off the door frames

or denting the soft plaster of the walls.

I am lifting the piano with one hand.

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