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