In your trelliced back yard
polishing old brass lights,
with Brillo pads we rub hard,
talking long into the night.
then down your garden we go,
bare feet imprint damp lawn,
why walk fast, let’s amble slow
– and there’s no need to yawn…!
Apple clusters close at hand
slowly turn succulent sweet;
closely we tentatively stand,
our eyes brighten, our lips meet.
Two shadows outside the shed,
(your mother better not call us)
so sweetly you bow your head;
disapproval certainly won’t stall us.
In the blue dusk fog-horns blare,
In the blue dusk we hug & kiss,
In the blue dusk an aromatic air,
but behind bushes let there be bliss.