This Effect of You

To J.S.

It is now measurable –
this effect of you –
by improved
qualities across my skin

You are layer-healing
a soft fixer of
my ripped tiers
and light filler of erosions

You are still as radiant
when back-lit
by another day’s sun
as you run to me

Across you
my dared fingers scan
with ten eyes more
than first had looked

This is our skin tale
of with in and with on
Our time teases us
by obligated constraints

Record it in a diary of sorts –
typeset in italic recall
Dance for me
and my eyes will join in

Below Victoria

For J

A loosened thought
was unexpectedly set adrift

like a sea-wetted sandal
sucked into whisked white foam

off foolish seventh wave treaders –
those salt-splashed day trippers –

as my viewfinder caught you blown
and turning to me – iso-fixed

in my camera as it framed that
installation under which you stood

You as my suddenly important art
buffeted upright below an artist’s

weather-required turned response
My portrait of beauty in Brighton

Takeaways

How shall I study
your offered body?
With intimate sight
through my fingertips

I shall measure your
almost-bare prospect
as a blinded map maker
set to plotting contours

Such thoughts ease
into my half-dreams
Each stroke takes me
by pathways on dips

then up to almost-chalk
landscapes of Downs –
stretched before slept travel
Before sleep’s other sights

A Common Spotted Orchid

For JC

It is a highly successful
coloniser of wasteland
and not at all in danger

Both my Google Lens
and a quickie Wikipedia
yielded to your knowledge

Just an assurance of such –
there was no doubt in my mind
that you were right – none at all!

Seeing such beauty has an effect –
How can a thing so vivacious
be left – without being taken?

An uncommon allure
among easy rough grass –
there is more to this orchid

Such observations ran quick
as my eyes and mind
took you – assiduously –
from behind

Walking Out

I turned to see you stood on your
corner plot of weeds-not-grass –
kind people call it a sedum lawn

with caresses of your bared skin
as mementoes to assay at home

My creased shirt was a banner
with two words – SLEPT OVER –
embossed in an uppercase font

No drugs required to lift my feet
from that drunken drag – my dance
down your road was pain-free

Gaddy

Constance Mary Sad – Baker – Clark –
also known as Gaddy

pranced
through Europe’s dared-to
decadence

finding her feet
in those wide-flared seventies
in every kind of ballroom competition

Come dance with me!
Len called –
a nine scored five times

by a sweet Devon girl
who once graced low tides on
Braunton Sands

In the Eye

Women slip from winsome
under their senescent faces –
their hands steal the looks
off youth’s eyed-embraces –

They pleasure in pastimes
of tease-tricks and flirts –
they command your heart –
their hard rules will subvert

I want to reach out
and trace your lined beauty –
of furrows and laugh lines
worn freely at forty

I will kiss your eyelids
of stitch-tightened skin –
because here is your beauty –
it is still within

Beautiful

She sat at our table
placemats squared

like her stubborn
kissed chin

with a darkened mole
on her stage-right cheek

she never meant to
say so very much

’bout maternal dis-possessions

which is our shared
inheritance

but the problem is halved.