Sunday, June 24, 2007

from The Poetry Challenge


for Giles and Julia

Royal vines
Cut from a king’s court
Hundreds of years old – slow matured
Their roots drawing deep into England.
Their knurled trunks growing
Out of hot black loam
Under the magnified sun light
Of this Hertfordshire glasshouse.

A clot grapes
A nest of magenta beads
Suspended from the sloping glass roof.
Cool marble to touch,
Their fragile skins
Hold all summer’s blood
That breaks and melts
Over our lips
Spills onto our tongues
Then thick and sweet
Crushed flesh at our throats.
A toast to friendship.

© David Loffman

24 June 2007

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