You were once inside me.
You know the folds that define me.
You have tasted the flavour of love blossom and linger on me.
Our desire oozed and flowed from me, insatiable.
You have sucked me into such moans that
even upon recollection your cock springs into action.
You binged on me – sweating out my light, drowning in the deep dark.
My trust, a gift.
Our joy was a door caught in the wind’s wild rhythm.
Banging.
Banging.
Banging.
black march…
I have a freind
At the end
Of the world.
His name is a breathOf fresh air.
He is dressed in
Grey chiffon. At least
I think it is chiffon.
It has a
Peculiar look, like smoke.
It wraps him round
It blows out of place
It conceals him
I have not seen his face.But I have seen his eyes, they are
As pretty and bright
As raindrops on black twigs
In March, and heard him say:I am a breath
Of fresh air for you, a change
By and by.Black March I call him
Because of his eyes
Being like March raindrops
On black twigs.(Such a pretty time when the sky
Behind black twigs can be seen
Stretched out in one
Uninterrupted
Cambridge blue as cold as snow.)But this friend
Whatever new names I give him
Is an old friend. He says:Whatever names you give me
I am
A breath of fresh air,
A change for you.
— Stevie Smith —