by Meredith Pitt

 

Pillows abandoned

plump and ripe,

transform sleepily into

Cumulus clouds.

 

Trickle honey

down your spine,

and wait for the sweetness

to subside.

 

Open the tin

where the rainbow is kept,

spread it thickly

on morning toast.

 

Wind chimes sway

picking out high wooden clicks,

ferry horns answer

with liquorice insistence.