I pulled her chair close to mine
and looked
at her hands, and those hidden thighs
the primrose vulgaris benath a purple skirt
and the latent heat of her lead lined eyes
seemed to be defiant in their lust for denial
denying me the pleasure of soft flesh
of the primeval smell under the bonnet
the sun shaped tattoo on her lower back
goosepimples
when I touch her wrists
there is an ugly burn mark
which reminds me
of cigarettes and fire breathing cats
she adjusts her bra strap, it’s magenta pink
I looked
and she knew I did,
the primrose widens, attempts to consume
the immorality of insidious hunger
the hunger for intimacy
savouring of soul
the perfunctory monosyllabic love
holds no power over us
only guilt and catastrophe.
A heathen poet 