Love Poetry For Couple

I. By the time I reach the basket of rose petals held by the young girl with the green sash there are none left. Still, she holds the basket out to me like an air steward offering sweets in the last fifteen minutes of the flight. I breathe in the smoke of myrrh from the censer and breathe it out towards your photograph. If this were a waltz it might go something like: in

1 It is to the island and the coastlands that the shifting light tethers on a fluid line weaving water and sand and rock. The point of going away is always to come back � thrice deny, and you come back to the shells of your sandheaps, allow that there could be an old spirit or two or simply an old love affair with the harbour playing you in. 2 Climbing to the houses you look down to where

for Seamus Heaney this morning the blade bites clean through soil turning up, on the way worms, spiders and a surfeit of others at work in the everlasting dark the news is it is your turn to spend some time with them, nothing is ended changing places perhaps, but ritual recognises impact on those left behind bespectacled vultures might pick over the life�s efforts, determine what�s worth

Some injudicious thoughts about this city. Nothing else can be written. I perch in my flat on top of the Square at that dullest hour before dawn, wreathed in Happy by Clinique For Men from Farmers in the Plaza. I lurk in the mirrored department of luxury and when the girls go off to mend their hair and drink tea I spray at random. I love perfume but don't want to smell the same night

Allen Curnow 1911 - 2001 Brasch in his velvet voice and signature purple tie complained to his journal that you had 'interrupted'. I wasn't sorry. That was Somervell's coffee shop nineteen fifty-three. Eighteen months later you and I were skidding on the tide-out inner- harbour shelvings below your house from whose 'small room with large windows' you saw that geranium 'wild on a wet bank'