The architecture of an aunt
Made the child dream of cupolas,
Domes, other smoothly rounded shapes.
Geometries troubled his sleep.

The architecture of young women
Mildly obsessed the young man:
Its globosity, firmness, texture,
Lace cobwebs for adornment and support.

Miles from his aunt, the old child
Watched domes and cupolas defaced
In a hundred countries, as time passed.

A thousand kilometres of lace defiled,
And much gleaming and perfect architecture
Flaming in the fields with no visible support.

by Dom Moraes

Comments (2)

i really enjoyed this poem too..i love your style..perhaps some of the spelling could be checked as it can be a bit distracting...or am i being too picky? 10 for style though
another strong free flowing poem, you have found your stlye Neil, and you work it well, some great thoughts in this poem, especially liked the one about her not smashing up anything of yours before she left, the idea that she was now indifferent to it all, no anger, no sadness, just a walking shadow of her former self, consumed by routine. always a pleasure to read your work. best wishes, vincent