I wither
in your desultory holds

Unminded we made love
a day especial
markedby homes
impressing sundry photos

terraced park
could love I thought
how orphic
scents
and queitude

privy in ivy
piqued the twirls of nervous

That day,
sehs six
we in plural-ed
round up
and half nigh to a town
culled in perpetuum…