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After Love, A Spell

Better than any letters I send, hence better reading, a memory in verse, kabbalist conjuring to reverse the calendar and make the present tense with lust – by shuffling letters. Let ‘C’ be a kitchen counter I lean back on. ‘D’ your dressing gown, red, falling open as you reach me. ‘E’ an elbow, lightly looped around my neck as – yes, ‘F’ – your hand Far below, guides me into you and thus far, nothing and everything between us, into a future neither of us understands.

Months later now, this memory serves for charm: recalls a joy and keeps it safe from harm.

© 2003-2017 Stephen Taylor
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