You begged me to buy
you.
Holding out my hands I
caressed your auric
energies.
Golden yellow
blossomed in my soul,
felt no warning
jangling in my spine.
Gazing into the depths
of your eyes
I saw that they were
flawless.
And then I simply
asked you
Are you the right one
for me?
You say nothing and I
weep.
It’s hard to keep my
heart from racing.
Would you enhance my
dreams or something more?
If not your shape is
not important.
But you are lovely.
And then we brush
fingertips
and you feel so right.
And now I will cleanse
you
of all the
negativities of this foolish world,
the careless
thumbprints,
the words that
destroy,
distaff vibrations.
Come my darling
Chrysoprase,
down to the cool
waters of the Serpentine,
where I will hold you
under briefly,
baptising, washing
away the impurities.
Later in my Kensington
garden,
naked before the night
we stand
upon a sterile plastic
sheet,
and I douse you with
unirradiated
mineral water,
scooping it up from
folds in the rubber,
splashing you again and
again,
filtering your
substance with starlight.
And as we play I
neither touch you, nor hold you,
nor programme you, nor
speak to you.
We mum in the
moonlight,
gentle as moonbeams,
silent as owls.
I imagine you as a
sculpture
and I a humble artisan
distilling marble.
Dawn breaks, the
ritual is over.
pour the final
elixir
into 10ml bottles,
topping the final
third with pure alcohol,
then clasp them to my
belt.
And when I am not with
you
and I think of you,
I will take a pipette
and place three drops
under my tongue.