Time has no meaning
when harvest moons smell of jasmine
arranging the night’s yellow light
in textured ranks on the water, noiselessly
shaping the welcoming sand.
Somehow I have been here forever
reclining alongside your sinuous lap
placing fingertips softly around,
nervously, slowly, anxiously, gently,
your temples and then your moist cheeks.
I exult to see the sun and the sea,
together, alone, mingling their embracing souls.
My lips tasted salty of your kiss all day,
better by far than the empty silk of chocolate.
George Mallory (G.W.M.Harrison) published a collection of verse, Cerrd
Dafod, titled for Dylan Thomas’ definition of poetry (‘Word Songs’)
and is best known for his poem, ‘John Berryman, dead’. He is working
on his third adaptation of an ancient play for the modern stage.