(22/03/66 / Manchester)

I Am Carried Away To A Honey Garden

In this labyrinth, I would be gladly-lost
Her composition steals my soul.
Whole again I dance beside her in permafrost
Plays my heart inside-out till I am, whole.
Her music is a dancing humming bee
It-hypnotizes me to wait for her sting
She wears gold splayed peacock earrings sultrier
Then the sun; plucking on her, mandolin.
Naked to her muse, her song is buttermilk
I am carried away to a honey garden
Where her ladle has poured on me to drink
I am consumed bathed without pardon.
I am drunk I am slowly amnestied
That is how I know I've been stupefied.

by Mark Heathcote

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.