.
.
scented petals have fallen
our flower has passed
we are but a pallid shadow
of loves bounty
we walk and we talk
in foreign tongues, through divided lands
highlands and lowlands
empty deserts and thorny forest
you catch my infrequent smiles
ignoring frowns so deep, they crack
the foundations of your soul
stubbornly weak, yet refusing to yield
I seize my shield of obscure books
never your wonted hand
bold words, fashioned as spears
I use against your advance
our bed, flowerless, barren, scentless
tender upon, eye, bone and flesh
a hard back I lay against you
my obdurate spine
.
.
© Paul Nichol 2013
