Saturday, 5 September 2015


With what saccharine poisons am I thus afflicted?
To whose laced dart have I grown addicted?
Soft needle-like prickle, come closer to me!
Leave me bristled and splintered, delicately.
Lay me down sweetly; let’s make as a vine,
Constricting each other as we intertwine.
Throbbing lush bramble, pulsing with fruit:
Tempt me, spined fiend -- succulent brute!
Whet me and sate me, leave yourself at my lip,
And let me nourish myself at your hip.
May spike-feathered edges act as our tether;
Hooked gently, calmly, bounded together.
Come, sweet gardener! Make knotweed with me!
Let’s make this earth’s lawn our foul sanctuary.

L.R. Chapman
from Modern Melancholy, 2013

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