Drizzle

Parchment texture, blood and gaunt,
If thirty is no jester's age,
Among nymphets her role's a sage.
She stands alone, no need to flaunt
For one can scar from young taunts.

Yet memories fall psychedelic,
Sepia, bronze, pallid white,
Crowd and dot the magic nights.
Eternal theme of self and phallic
Seduce her back to leave the relic.

And back to one apprentice night,
To touch the act of sin so stark,
Erotic, climax, then to pass.
Experienced. Now for future bright:
To drink and sweat and curse your plight.

Now the conflict means but little.
Creation, love, even lust
Too old to play life's second fiddle:
She softly steps back from the drizzle.

Trevor Watkins.

page 9