A silver moon sliver teetering
On the dark edge of night
Suddenly pierced by
An iceberg sword of dawn.
A snow valley caught
In the embrace of indigo hills.

Pearl flesh on silk sheets,
An ebony-faced servant,
Holding a huge white lily bouquet.
A pristine spring forest decked with
Delicate crocus buds,
A pale **** shattering
The sameness of black suits.

An abandoned chapel
Full of faded frescoes,
The grey smell of absence,
The thick stone faces of griffins.

A soft pause in the churchyard,
Among shadows, a black-eyed crow
Alights on angel wings, a fallen branch
Heavy with sable moss lies
Among the sounds of silence.
The pallor of age mocked
By purple blotches of skin,
The jaundiced yellow failing sight
And yet the heart still bright
With the ruby fire of love.

Froggy muse comes wandering
Bright as green and song.
Wild as sky, that roving eye,
and grandly blossoming
with narcotise of spring.

It’s April when love leads its own
toward your verdant pond
where water teams with
wriggling streams, beyond
all sense of mind.

Where hugely ****** Nature
gives herself to earth, and you,
my slippery impress wriggle
through my grasp to
some delightful nowhere
of carefree ecstasy.

My passion’s satisfaction
disappears like you
beneath a murky surface
where poetry once grew.