ne parcas nec sperens
Sleeping hand to mouth, we’ve celebrated our summer’s fullness by a quiet river beneath stars, poplars and a thin sliver of new moon. The Windrush slides past, freighted with weed and tadpoles, sleek with summer’s wealth. And you are full of me and a new life begins here in the dark. Displeasure’s spurned by your breathing: in, then fast expelled. Your breath slows on my hand, forebears. You’ve learned to hold your body empty. What huge event do heart and lungs await, breath bated, spent, to welcome light and air? I should ask. I, who’ve turned away love, turn now to fill my mouth with kisses, our bodies with new life.