Bebo

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	A poem or a blade of grass
	A poem or a blade of grass? Brian Patten, that most unruly-haired Liverpool poet Thought to offer his lover a blade of grass (when she asks for a poem) I wonder if I offer you a poem, will you long for a blade of grass? And if it could say more than I, As dawn slides between us … So I sit here, in front of my computer With a blade of grass in one hand and a poem in the other…. A blade of grass – and I feel the freshness of you Tightening around my virgin fist And I smell the morning plunder of your thighs hear those early sighs - like soft wind in the trees and here with my poem I wonder if words could weave a fabric rich enough in texture to portray the silky flaxen down- of your mound, the feel of it against my mouth - to shape the moans and cries from the contours of your bitten lips translate the letters of sensations on my skin from the typeface of your fingertips I return to the blade of grass It whistles to me between my thumbs And I feel it, fresh, organic, and alive in my hands I spill its juices as I rub and caress it With a little too much passion, between finger and thumb Dewdrops accessorise a blade of grass in any romantic moment My words seem bare in comparison - wearing full-stops and parenthesis I decide on the blade of grass As licking my fingers I realize one could never taste a poem And the taste of you… still lingers on my lips So this blade of grass - I give to you…
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