Where now my Scorpio, as again you invade
Now that this life is so surely fading
Where are the naked bodies still craving
Whose bosoms are bared, warm & ready to clasp
From the silence of the imaginary cloisters
To the reality of the islands cliff top track
Even with the fragrant fragments of the lavender
The odds against us always were unevenly stacked
Reminders as I loiter, without hope or wealth
Long past any thoughts of simply turning back
I write then as if I write for no one, no one other
Than the no one who shores up the inner self
So now my Scorpion, where the devil are you hiding
With which airborne sensitivities are you colliding
Is your new life, is it the one of full on providing
Or are there shares untaken, leftovers left to grasp
Beneath the rain spots, in the square of Paternoster
To the bitumen of Yorkshire’s pit top black
With the aroma of dark and dank Octobers
The enquiry is continuous & incrementally racked
