Being late to meet you at the station

 

 

That God-is-Light smile of your arms

One second before

I’m in them.

Your eyes, having nearly

Given up, lit up

As mythical

As Regent Street.  A satyr

Reeling at the discovery of honey.

Your mouth,

Tasting of the breath

Of greenhouses. The sap.

The open stamens. Clorophyll.

(Ruth Padel)