Lust Is As Ill-Considered a Weed

LUST IS AS ILL-CONSIDERED A WEED AS EVER STOLE SCENT Rejected in the main as superstition - A gadfly, I’m alone upon the weed: A hot cinquefoil brooding on position, Declared intent of being in need of screed - Now the subject of each idle bee Gorged already, needing a restful stop What if his gyrations bring to me No true syncopation of a honeyed hop? Beauty – not recognised as such – I wonder Why man and woman excavate a flower garden Tear my fertility, so they may squander Wild possibility, and the earth around me harden. Can the joy I have before I’m torn asunder Be worth it when they never ask my pardon? (C) Rosemarie Rowley