Mark Heathcote (22/03/66 / Manchester)

In my heart is a cavalcade of flowers
each with a single root:
each point baring a bandanas lance!
at the first of summers, many, full-round fruits.

Oh joy! the joy of a loving torment!
that hanging grape upon the vine
that virginal-moon; sitting in her convent.
Who isn't barren of the facts, she'll be 'His, or mine? '