To the pure

You were, then and now, scaling the verandah
Where we diced up scones, and took solace in cream.
Then you wound your way into a cool salamander,

To lie, just refolded, lapped up at a seam –
And that pause was dreamed of, for fanning your spread,
And your photo cheek had to sheen in teapot steam.

Like a hangman’s last darling you dangled your head
As you sparkled the supplement, azured the air –
Why are blue movies blue? Where’s the sky in the bed?

By endemic illogic I had to be fair
And give you a fighting round rolling with blood,
Sense a holier scent in your papery hair,

So, later, strung out to the asthmatic thud
Of a Dell’s shaky breathing, you made your own case,
Shot down causes and worship; your critical dud

Left a page to be turned at a sobered down pace,
Slowed by understanding the point of the chase.