At night the little scorpions come down
to watch us playing at our poison kisses
to study from the dustbath where we drown

the sting that sinks the deepest when it misses.
I found flowers once where you had touched me;
black poppies sown in moon-distempered hisses.

Now the sun is crawling through the ivy,
its dawn a flickered fire burning wishes.
You're a green ghost spitting from a tree;

promises float away like silver fishes
and Love's a child who suddenly confesses.






  ©joyannjones April 2022