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PK Wakefield
Poems
May 2013
Untitled
its throat is very
(the night)
whose fingers deeply grouse
in such blue as silken eve
the whole stack
of enduring
city
roar
and speckled
by the quiet of an alleyway
drenched in stillness whitely
stealing sudden magically
into a tightest yearning swallow
(feels as does and such as when
i think to think
i think as when
in Summer balmy please
skin to stick to skin
a flower just
its fullness to erode
the fever of its pollen
distilled erectly kissing
one unblemished lips
of night who when did
Grousing so bluely
its fingers )
Written by
PK Wakefield
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