Snapped curl of pink-tipped orange
in a gauze of storm and chinos soaked to grey -
“The blossom
That I took was thinn’d
and yet” – this fire created
from my body, well wasn’t it,
“Not harried”? Low green spring
the fused wheels sing
‘Hey, honey’ to Bardot – no volume-ruling sky
or ceaseless touch,
expectorate to an edge like this one
Its thinking dead with wet.
Helen Slater & Edmund Hardy
(From Herbarium, a new poetry anthology. Launch and reading 22 July)
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