vignettes

barely legal

My cheek, grown saffron pale, still yens
To be thawed by your warming kiss.
So, I sit and pine under the shade of Judas trees,
Hiding away like a child ashamed of his enuresis.

But now the inauguration of pleasure has begun,
The sheets have been laundered and dried,
And you proffer papier-mâché swans
With amphetamines folded up inside.