Eoghan Lyng | 10 October 2018
Watery waves wellow weather a washed he walked,
Havered hills in mellowed years had passed,
Stifled imagery of islands beyond mountain’s mist,
Buried in the sunset’s mirrored mask.
Behind a colony, Spanish browns and bare,
Does she still kiss there by the core?
Through ragged hands, a lover stands,
A younger body, a blanked mind that left him warm.
Regal wrote the haggard hives heathered,
Halfway to heaven he sits to pray,
Brown in hair, blue eyed belting Germanic stare,
And regal on her bed she lay.
Scottish chills on a street name cast,
Caressed undressed a lover’s lantern strikes,
Flamed enraged and cartered comes,
The tolling of a rag raised snowy night.
“Play the hand that’s dealt you” he said,
A vessel sailed down a lake complete,
A Marxist ideologue bore her sole,
Enrobed, she washed the insides of his feet.
Peeking beyond the embered bridge that followed,
Rabbits running in a groundless fear,
Sparrows losing flight in sightless myriad,
Elsewhere, change can cause a man to jeer.
Joking laughs, he held her hand,
Undressed, her breasts he retrieved,
French were the words she gave,
And only love were the words received.
A ferried pint forgiven, lived restored and wrapped,
Lands apart, he kissed her lips so straight,
Over roads and streets once travelled by,
Worlds apart, they would wait.