"battenberg" poems
She walks through the congested room,
small smile on her immaculate face.
Battenberg pink lips in a place packed chaotically
with men in dark shirts, skin coated in shiny sweat.
But our girl is dressed in a see-through white,
clutching a toffee bag, she moves further into the pit.
Her eyelids flicker enigmatic ebony,
waves of bronze hair roll down past the shoulders.
We’ve never met, we may never meet at all
but my days she is dazzling, a rush of fresh air.
In a different place in a different time,
who knows? Would I be pricked by such profound beauty?
I don’t know how I came across your name,
found your photos and was taken aback.
Nevertheless glad my eyes have seen your brilliance,
but let’s get back to real life now shall we?
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 3:19 PM UTC
I only noticed it today.
It snuck up on me,
Ice breath on my nape
Made me shudder in my fleece.
My ears were deaf
To the crunching neath my feet.
The scene outside my fish bowl
Now a Battenberg of brown and green:
Bricks and trees against emerald grass,
With a smattering of fallen leaves.
I’d been so engrossed:
An intentional whirlwind
Pushing past all in my path.
The chill is appropriate.
The air lacks all its summer warmth.
And it’s hard. It bites at my fingertips
Like you do. Did.
No tense fits.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 8:12 PM UTC