The sprouting buttercup
dangles into the purpled,
doting sky. It's waxy spangles
nuzzle the moist,
crisply dewed, fluff
whilst billowing across merry air. 

The yellow buttercup
dozes in spiced, lean dapples,
setting its soul ablaze in sumptuous echoes at the sheer
drape of dawn.

The teacup buttercup
outspreads it's wings
amongst tall spiked grasses
and wild flowers.
Shifting shafts and shards
of grass and glass
and forever awaiting the larks cry
which means its time to die.

I instagram 
Your heart on the wall
And let the love stew.
Materialistic love
Of cupboards and
vermillion hue.

I dimly wonder
why my eyes are filling
up yet again like 
hot bath tubs
which steam over 
before evaporating
into mist on the mirror.

Rose light streams
through the large cove of bay
windows like skinny,
taut ribbons, or
glinting spider webs,
onto the wall. Highlighting a
creamy expanse of cornicing
rising higher into
the infinite.

The purple haze
of heather had
dwindled in the sunshine.
Bluebells were breaking too,
their florets a flutter.
Smoggy incense rolls in
off the horizon smoking
over the crumbled mountaintops,
their peaks unable to break the surf.

5 am in mid July
and the sun is raising
golden trails in sky
and in the pools, following the
golden signet's flaming
vapour trails which, in polka-
dotted summer spawn, calm 
the water's satin, rippled peaks. 
Subsiding and gliding
into the stillness of emerald pond.
The signets move to the glistening
side of the river bank,
shafts of light catching
the lens forging ghostly 
golden sickles
which lengthen
amongst the dust hovering
aglow above silver cove 
and English lagoon.