The poetry of a windblown glance
Echoes at my skin
And moves the intricacies
Of my hair
Feminine flavours … goose flesh
Later that night
Neon blues … flickering sounds
Dancing into the sun
Before you can answer the question
That which follows carefully … then is lost
Problems with sound
And a morning full of hangovers
Are not all slow clocks … time?
Gripping tender days and passing
Anthology into age?