I Know Exactly The Sort of Woman I’d Fall in Love With
If I were a man.
She would flambé and bubble like Tina
Turn her temperature to more than fifty
The rough wild husk of her voice would lift me
to way past boiling point. Oh this Prima
Donna of my fantasy, I’ve seen her
drooling at me. A hot chilli kiss she
blew, landed on my plate once, it missed me
by a spare rib – made my taste keener.
As for me, I’m already shimmering
in a thin glaze. I can turn up the heat
whenever I want to. I’m simmering
waiting to be whisked along with her beat.
She doesn’t know, but in the glimmering
of her eye, I’d be good enough to eat.
(After Deryn Rees-Jones)
What Colour Would He Be If He Wasn’t The Colour He Is?
If he wasn’t pink
or sometimes red
mostly he’d be blue,
not a miserable sad sort of blue
but a light-hearted turquoisy blue.
He would live in the sea,
he’d be a whale
and we’d never have met
unless I was a mermaid
and that’s unlikely
because I’m afraid of the water.
I’m more of a greeny person myself,
need my feet firmly planted on the ground.
I’d quite like to be a goat actually;
people have no strong feelings either way
about goats, they just leave them
alone to get on with it.
You’d never see a whale and a goat
That would be stupid.