Morning sun-cave

A morning sun-cave,
Warming, bright on a
Face turned
Unashamedly idolatrous
To the east north east.

Olive branch
Overboughing
As a mother's arm;
No harm

Befalling me
In the moving moment
Between the irrevocable
And the inescapable.

Olive blossom dropping
In deep drifts yellowing
Amongst rampant green
And falling fruit.

My life, too,
An unkempt garden...
Ruined, teeming, fetid, moist.
On my fingers I smell sex.
Yours or mine?

We wind
Our fragile coils
In self-indulging coupling;
Repeating our mistakes,
Breeding No Escape.

Olive blossom dropping
In deep drifts yellowing
Amongst rampant green
And falling fruit.