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Monday
Jan242011

Sundew ~ by David Alcock

Sundew

You lean, arms clasped behind you, hands at the elastic
of your knickers, ankle deep in the warm bog, regarding
sundews, and you reveal to me how they eat flies.

Wordy woman, lexical lover, who rides a spear of wit:
we slowly screw while reading Hegel for the challenge;
St Paul too, to cock a snook, and conjure a stink of hell.

Our bed flowers around us: fed by sweat, spilled coffee,
toastcrumbs, ash; the nervous sheets rumple into petals;
our thrown-off duvet curls a nest for us screwloose birds.

I peer at the pink glands, dew-primped stalks, deadly aureoles:
endangered, modest, contained... easy to condemn a predator;
a fly might sketch death so; we admire the tricks of beauty.

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