She would the small Swift be-Lois E. Linkens

It was a late night when the notion came;

Black and atrous in the dry car park.

Night was cruel – weekend smelled like beer and dark,

A mouth-organ’s growl ran as nuns in shame

Behind her heel, music and love like red

Syrup oozed through her white gold flesh. ‘Kind sweet

Abandon – here I sink my thirsting teeth

Into thy bitter lemon starlight, said

To tell us  – close and fragrant – of our gloom.

My word – how I am stuck in this life’s cement!’

She wants to watch the Osprey, awful claws and

Black-tipped wings abeat to topple Doom,

The horrible slicing of silver flesh —

Puccoon drops t’wards foamy throes, Death’s velvet

Smalt does seduce the coy in brilliance

She curiously craves. Still, as the Osprey fight,

She would the small Swift be; ‘Oh tireless Swift,

Who sleeps in flight, thy burnet body quick

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