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Linda Ann Strang – Ⅱ

On a Botticelli Hillside I Turfed Out Venus 

(1 February 2006)




and Apollo and threw my laugh

at you like the west wind and a discus.


And there you were, sprawled,

choking blue on my comedy.

I had to retrieve my joke


from your cinnamon flavoured bubblegum throat

with my tongue. I could taste your laughter;

it was fun. You are a man with hilarity


that becomes a hyacinth.

Your enjoyment fills up my empty spaces

like: a child, a legend, a picnic,


hot air balloons (we can eat each other

with rainbow spoons), bright ideas; and filaments

of fulfillment in flower bulbs.


You’re like spring itself rising up in the cup

of my hand, my scented lamp, earth of my cervix –

my lovemaking blue Indian God.