Don't steal me 

nothing but the silver blue in the sky  

the doors on all the houses  

locked shut together with the windows  

and the colours on sills 

Nowhere were the cloud so flat and plain  

as above the houses on the terrace 

Morwenna in the evening  

plying the trees with spring air  

Cylindrical snippets fortified with squares 

the rust that prop it into Thinking 

flowers like love hearts, 

sickly discs flat and subtly  

concealing their effervescence 

May, June baby  

ready for the shapes that contour the leaves and bring them down slowly  

to the ground  

Because really when you're looking what you're seeing  

is there  

a strange strong and pressing sense that No-one is interested in your explanation of a cylinder  

It is Beyond My construction of matter  

Fine cones  

Bones Sharp  

Come easy, She loves you  

Her structure Loves your structure.