SCENTS OF SPRING

 

I love the day the first, fresh scents of spring

suffuse the air and pervade the senses.

 

An AEIOU bird

toots its hollow horn

outside on the A595.

 

A celebratory genesis is everywhere.

 

Mother earth

is giving birth,

menstruating season

and ovulating dawn.

 

Fresh lovers maunder

hand in hand and

knee-deep in redolent flowers

into shade to take repose

by cool, running waters.

 

Sybaritic sylphs swoop in sentient air.

 

The blue sky arches and swoons,

I bridle the mind and

race apace to the shore

where seabirds scream

from the ragged rocks,

O is it their love-song or elegy?

 

Waves make gentle love to the shore.

 

In alchemy a galaxy

of stars exploding

into being above is perceived

as an orgasm, is perceived,

that is, in an erotic sense.

 

Liquid night arrives too soon,

O moon, O beautiful,

sleepless omen moon,

who shines like an

electric coin and seems

to be in love with the sea

or at least her own

shattered reflection:

she scatters her jewellery box all around.

 

Homework tonight

is to remember your dreams.

 

I prefer telepathy to 10p.