I found you
seeking solace in a stone face –
its tears marbled
you marveled agog
whilst tracing the line of moss
etched like scars
on synderstone skin.
Cheeks, taught and bleached
passed over by summers oblivion
tumulted within thunderous downpours
enfolded by phoebe’s whispering.
Awed you traced the line of sculpted lips
saught to find solace
some warmth in the idol of Lleu
the lady of the flowers had left
dimpled on fleshy thighs.
There you planted your seed,
willing its growth in hope and nurture,
a carnal ache for harvest
and quiet sighs