The Priory
drifting through
oceans of feeling
the small of a hair
unwashed and sage
a woman breast feeds
the multicoloured landscape
behind a tarot canvas skyline
she is smoothing the trauma
of unrequited time
unsung - she smiles
dances to a solution
only she can release
all hands, forearms waning
freely - does her heart purr
for any kind desire? Only
quiet she can really milk
that sunk dream and taste its
cream confusion curious, all
over her tongue it whispers
to never again complain
of her familiar inside bubble
where all that had ever stood
was this ancient priory of love