Touch
A mahogany of lost leaden high
The namesake kept it’s promise
The turbulence of sea horse runner
The silver disk is a little low tonight
For Baroque’s touch of midas res
The high strung of novelty
The joyous currents of sea beds
Leaves me open stranded
In an Island of Mediterranean blue
I sing and hum the national green
The olive touch of Texas to Britain
Ghettos land in the islands of poverty
I skimmed a solstice touch.
Moss
Dewdrops around my clock table
A newly refurbished watch
The steel clean peel the orangey desk
The rumination stales around
A heavy buzzkeep silence
The opulence of tall heavy strain
Straight out of the hillsides
The air mists a blue hour
My peonies are hung around
The bonnets are wet dried
My nestled dropped homeskill
To myriad ways the honey touch smile
And kill the open ended questions
Before they end before the red postbox
It stays around
Whatever we try to ponder on
As the river slithers around
My new desked moss.
