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Experiment 8



Her mouth tasted of river water,
Sweet, sensually strong, clear and
grey of the shingle-sand characteristic
and bent neck toitoi.
Eyes which were the willow leaves turning
green to gold under autumn's
watery, infinitely artistic caress.
A glance the smell of drizzle on
the dawn's fresh skin.

Words fingered by the subtle warm lips
nipple and shatter on the surface of my thoughts
(like the rain muttering on the pools of her eyes
- deep, so deep and teal).
They are grasped and clutched again,
dryed and resurrected in the galleries of
my brain.
Also were the movements, the motions, the
symphony of the blue grey trout which
float and shout in the egotistic stream.
My reflections which spawn and dart in
the memory of the rush of her face.