this weather
this sheath of fears
infects with caustic cold; blood

feather snow flakes parachute in
muffling sound
Mammals armour clad in
excess hide
scatter like spit
to cringe foetidly
under such reserve bosoms,
as metal radiators;
The bitch sieges
lays in unabashed nakedness
pure, bitter love
Her vainglorious skin
chokes larynxes of pipes
in quietus
Gores cartilage and marrow
Raw greed finds nooks
and cunning virus glacis pores of concrete
constricting windscreens
And all the furry fellas run and go sleep
cause she’ll leave nothing to eat
Rain acquiesces
on purple -black dawns
of a mother-less insomnia
Gothic eves as though she relegated the sun and
commandeers the air
that snatches tell-tale clouds of our breath
(How lucky the moon that she's bathed in milk)
And yet,
nothing dampens your warmth
for a white Christmas
as though we’ll all go out to meet her when she comes
and does her sums…
…….it’s train,
like Flaming June , anointing the hills
because she'll be driving six white horses
and the very hooves of Neptune’s stallions
splay sonic wash
over commons hallowed with blades of brittle grass
trembling in perspex cradles
suspended in stalactite pyjamas
And lonesome trees
weep through naked wrinkles
diamonds of dew
that shimmer like crystals
sprinkled on her regal gown
proclaiming her blossom