Sounds of satin wrapped sheets swam, spiralling breath to still in patent survivor, entertainment for watch, the bluest clearing of sky to unfold the slueth in dreams, sorrows realm. Tomorrow’s Currawong listed of line, shivers my baby’s so vain she is almost a mirror, and they name you well, my dreams of youth retold, under the burrow blue of sky. Paged them coldest rip of melon dew, to the warmth in glow, seeds by the tillage; nights track the to day, seed sown an growing in wrapping respite, loss of breath foreclose with dewdrops, melons seed to set, under the calibration of spiralling love flood to light, her golden dream’s of a moonless plight.

2020 Adam Blewett ©