The stuff honey is made of
(this poem is currently in competition)

I would cherish the chance to hold you softly
on our new cranberry couch�they are the fashion now
and catch moonlight carelessness
as we drop aside academia
and become quite chaffy for the night
except to count stars
and in coupling.

Then it would be dreamy to dream,
fall away from daily dalliances and
indulge in the dessert of imagination and
closed sweet eyelids.
You grab the demijon of water,
we�ll brush our teeth by candlelight
and kiss before we drift.

I would wake in gingham and dress to gabardine
before I get the fried eggs and grapefruit
and the tray and the spray from our garden,
gather you up in arms
and call you my gem,
set out my special green tea
morning glimmering through the window
as it comes in gently.

Homeros would wag his faithful tail and
lick your hand as you don�t look from the paper.
I drop ham into his bowl,
sip half and half with berries.
I arrange hyacinth in a squat handled-vase
as you nod your left foot in rhythm.

Later we�d climb into our launch
watch the leaves spin and splash down.
The crown of flowers on my head is lush
a ringlet of lilac
and over the lake the sunbeams flirt with our laughter
telling jokes about Lewis and Shakespeare
and druids and nymphs
and we�ll overturn the dingy with our hilarity and
laughsplash as we sit to dry our lanugo
on the shore lapping.

Perhaps we�d have an ogdoad of friends
over oysters and champagne
or prawns in orange sauce.
Everyone is comfortable
ladling generously.
You kick me under the unfinished table.
We smile, spilling over.

Later I would cherish the chance to hold you softly
on our new cranberry couch�they are the fashion now
and catch moonlight carelessness
as we drop aside academia
and become quite chaffy for the night
except to count stars
and in coupling.

copyright 2001 by devon