Blasts from the past

I finally got round to converting old files from clarisworks and found some poetry from aeons ago. Most of it's shite, of course, but I might play around with it and cannibalise it into new shapes. But this one I won first prize in a local poetry competition with and I still like it in a nostalgic way so I'm putting it up in its original form.

I won a £50 book token, in case you were interested. Spent it on Miroslav Holub and William Carlos Williams collections.

BLACKBERRY AFTERNOON

            It’s summer.

            Afternoon,

            sultry, decadent heat.

                        Lying on the grass,

            a bowl of blackberries between us.

                        You’re talking

            and I am listening to the sound of your voice,

            watching your lips.

            (and touching those lips with the tip of my tongue

            unbuttoning your shirt kissing your throat)

            and we’re talking of books read,

                        and music heard.

            (and I’m whispering in your ear brushing lips on

            your eyelids running hands across your chest)

            No.  I’m not staring,

                                                    just looking at that bee.

            (I’m sitting astride your chest pulling my t-shirt

            over my head watching your pupils dilate)

            You go into the house.

                        I’m not blushing, just flushed from the sun

                                    and, if my mouth is dry,

            it’s from the tartness of the blackberries

            lying beside me,

            untouched in the sun.