Mark Heathcote (22/03/66 / Manchester)
My love we haven’t danced or linked arms
Like those leafless apple trees in the orchard.
Not for a while have we rolled in the weir…
Ankle to ankle, souls, bobbing naked inward-
Drowning – 'need no air-bubbles' - we’re -
In no rush, inertia has no more – alarms.
For us… around the corner spring is waking.
As for the moment; its icy dark waters—
Rolling; over boulders, yearningly in circles…
Only tantalize the fires, in our closed quarters.
In truth we have tasted all their musk tendrils...
...Of flower, and ivy bough, lovingly, bursting.
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