A Wivenhoe friend, bookish type – no names, no pack drill – tells of her Lancastrian father’s classic chat-up line, after a dance: “Ee, yer don’t sweat much for a fat lass, do yer …” And reader, she married him! Our poet Janice Dempsey recalls a more sensuous courtship ritual of one warm Summer day. Now it is Day 528 of the daily poems.
Love song
I sat
sweating in my July hat
your leg warm on mine,
your smile glowing near my cheek,
your song, that I fancied only I could hear,
opening my heart like a flower
to the sun.
Come, come,
No harm can be done
If I sculpt with my hands
Your curving hips;
With my tongue, part
Your waiting lips;
Reframe your sexuality
So that it’s powered by
Our loving needs.
And all the heated day
I’m falling, falling, falling,
believing you will catch me
in your soft net.
Janice Dempsey