the new carpet
smells like warm ewe
you take my hand
lead me over its spine
to our bed moored
in the small
of the back
now we are riding a raft
the sky is golden cream
the sheep gently arches
outside the buses
arrive, unload, reload, depart
there’s light rain
inside we make our own weather
1 comment:
lovely, plain speech...
a fine poem, renee!
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