A Sunflower Grows in England by Frank Reardon
There are sunflowers in England
She showed me when her mouth opened.
A ripe tongue hitting my mouth
As those blonde strands of time travel hit my face,
Was her name "Jackie" or was it "between the legs anarchy"?
Flavor and tunic hands brush my skin
Locked like a little boy
My fever pulses and my breath freezes in the air
Creating ice sculptures,
In the shape of British sunflower petals.
I have nothing but photos,
To prove that her eyes are richer than Southern oil,
I have nothing but words,
To prove that her pussy is made of poems.
There is a sunflower across the cold Atlantic
And it sits alone dancing in dark skies and thunder
It waits and plays with metal puzzles,
Hoping that he would just notice,
With words and sex in a letter.
She showed me when her mouth opened.
A ripe tongue hitting my mouth
As those blonde strands of time travel hit my face,
Was her name "Jackie" or was it "between the legs anarchy"?
Flavor and tunic hands brush my skin
Locked like a little boy
My fever pulses and my breath freezes in the air
Creating ice sculptures,
In the shape of British sunflower petals.
I have nothing but photos,
To prove that her eyes are richer than Southern oil,
I have nothing but words,
To prove that her pussy is made of poems.
There is a sunflower across the cold Atlantic
And it sits alone dancing in dark skies and thunder
It waits and plays with metal puzzles,
Hoping that he would just notice,
With words and sex in a letter.
