These flowers are not within.
I close my eyes, excluding nothing,
A soft sigh, a creased moan to my womb,
My lips on your ear, colour sinking to my petals.
I memoried the paradox as I spread open,
Open, eyes closed searching your horizon.
Last night, I dreamt of your words,
I pillowed the rise and fall of your heart,
Rise and fall, burying real earth,
Relishing oblivion at each stroke of your pen,
Toes nudging at hesitation in the dawn
Only fingers recognising infinity,
Words, so sweet they echo on silence.
(c) A Hannan