francis-chapman

Giraffe in Salford

We clung to each other on our raft bed,
Over hot breath amidst summer storms,
Our bodies held fast.
Melded.

He gazed nightly into our Love Room,
Without judgement.
From an unsullied eye he blinked,
Deliciously at our coupling,
And pondered our fate.

We sought him in the quiet times,
Where our eyes first sculptured him,
нιdden ιn тнe тreeѕ.
     Caught in the wind,
           Arching backwards,
            Giraffe yawned.
Chewed on his home-grown high flung leaves,
And dreamt of Africa.

F.S.Chapman.