The Blue

by Madeleine Wynne

It could have been so perfect,
Perhaps,
So stiffened in its silvered path to that swelling,
Dark esteem,

That in the foxed and pulsing thaw,
A hot trickle of beauty,
Crushed softly from my husking ribs,

Coffin velvet, coffin cheeks,
As in some bodily confectionary – the she,
That sweated crave for shrill oblivion,
In looming force by knotted carry –

And in the concert hall,
The thrush among the hallway ran,
An amber thrill that furred my shallow thigh,
The bleed for pain beneath the skin –

And for the end,
That hums in tampered silence wean,
The stinging lost to hording forge –
I twist for risen, turn-coat you,

For light to sift to heady dowse,
A shadow blue,
That ran the coldness
…………………….Out from in.