Condemned

When it stops hurting look again
and stop admonishing that
honeysuckle for everything:
It married us while it could;
with plaited stems and writhing root

Tatty leaves and flowers blasted
with aphid honey-spit, not nectar.
It was bound to fail:
Suppressed pain pollinated it;
tenacity refined to tender tendril.

Night distils for moth and nightjar,
over the broken lintel.

published in Obsessed By Pipework, May 2016

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6 thoughts on “Condemned”

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