A poem is seeping through my thoughts,
not one with rhymes and lines and meters
but a message of
hues and sparkles and tinkling sounds, unrelated to cadences
I have read and tried before….
I want to paint you a picture of love
yet will not paint with brushes and pens on stiff cream board
My picture will be a bouquet of sense flashes. splashes, gushes
during my days without you:-
blonde, freckles, hand holding, skipping, caressing,
sighs, squeezing, yearning
and a paint pot of dreams and memories.
UK, May 1986
