After Church

 After Church

 

After church, doors flung open wide

swell silky perfumes from inside,

come the patient penitent full rectified

and as those last notes of sung song rise

will she now run to me in hot rushes.

And I have my own worship in mind,

soft scented pillows to rest her head,

fresh frosted sheets enfold hot bed

in dark clotted cream chocolate melt

they brush blushed cheeks like felt

as hush falls here among trimmed bushes.

What we plant within grows long,

grows wild, grows roots firm and strong,

she will not fight with me; here instead

in thought, in dreams, in tangled threads,

in tangy flower beds our shadows fled.

Soon see those doors spread open wide,

singing such songs, for here she flies

to rest honey head upon lover’s cries.