THE FROGMORE POETRY PRIZE 2004

 
Howard Wright
SUNTRAP
 

The defunct watering-can, a snail jammed in its rose.
A kiss on your bee-sting lips, the botanist's territory.
My green trowel lost in the grass, the untamed vetch
and sticky backs. The fruitless deaths of kamikaze wasps.
A chorus of perfume bottles you never tire of rearranging.
The buzz of a live wire in an electric flower.
Pears ripening on our kitchen sill. The thankfully
quiet sex. The label of your blouse I gently tuck in.

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