THE FROGMORE POETRY PRIZE 2008

  HOWARD WRIGHT
PARAGON
 

I will please the Lord,

the gaps between her toes caught fleetingly in reinforced
tan nylon; the Mary-Janes slipped off in the chasm
of the bed, then tossed willy-nilly at the bentwood chair,

I will please the Lord,

her eyelashes flicking your chest showing she is still awake
and thinking it through; the wavebeat of orgasm
and smashed cafetiere, all-day sweat in her underwear,

I will please the Lord,

and it's still bright enough to bring out the lawnmower
from next door. She doesn't relent - a sudden spasm
sends her from this shore to the darkness of our bodies'

work,

I will please the Lord,

the dreams and kisses, little bits of love sticking to her,
a paragon of virtue with that smile of sarcasm
in her voice as disappointing as the birth of old habits.


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