Northern Latitudes


Now ageing, and living

the long months of low sun

 

where slate grey or silver sky hung,

where bare trees scratch black lightning,

 

peppered hair on virgin white pillows.

Dreams bled to monochrome.

 

I wake to find Her back to me

and the rolling hills of blanketed hips.

 

My hand on her hot rump

settling there-

a warm reminder,

 

as a sun-baked rock at midnight

of the gone day’s heat.

 

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9 thoughts on “Northern Latitudes

    • It’s odd how you can come back to a piece later , even just a day or so later, and see a different tone to things. Just now I’m pondering the dreams bled to monochrome, and thinking of Paul Simon “Mamma, don’t take my Kodachrome away”

  1. Hi Brian, I love the depth, placing and evocative touch of your verse. For each line meets, and greets the senses. For me, Susan’s reply hits the mark! Great to see you reach for your pen, and double up in the saddle with your muse once more. Warm wishes, Deborah.

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