when you went away it was morning
(this,big horses;light feeling up
streets;heels taking derbies (where?) a pup
hurriedly hunched over swill;one butting

trolley imposingly empty;snickering
shop doors unlocked by white-grub
faces) clothes in delicate hubbub

as you stood thinking of anything,

maybe the world....But i have wondered since
isn’t it odd of you really to lie
a sharp agreeable flower between my

amused legs
kissing with little dints

of april,making the obscene shy
breasts tickle,laughing when i wilt and wince