Weeds grow where they want to; not where they're told to grow...


P D Lyons

It Should Have Been September

I thought you would be different
Maybe red or brown
With eyes slender salamander blue
But weren’t you pale
Complete stranger to our sun
Eyes the colour of which retreated from
Everything I ever knew

I had thought of places
Silk and velvet
A thousand and one cushions
Valentino sheik
Dancing cheek to cheek
Champagne tipsy Grande Hotel
Feather bed white on white
Cigarette shared in the dark

But it was outside
Full sop summer on the ground
Blue sky edged by reservoir pines
Occasionally framed
Your face
Above me


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