A poem dropped in on me today,
when I’d had no cold sweat
no feverish sex, no compulsive tidying up.
It splayed itself before me, wantonly.
I knew its intention. I should mention
the way its words winked at me.
I held its gaze, glimpsed its shape
a well-formed line put a hand on hip,
an arresting opening blew me a kiss.
Its curves, not classic, won me over.
Words, tottering with the weight of phrases,
started dishevelling on the page.
And just when I thought everything was set
was rapt in the beat of its breath;
it placed a hand on my shoulder
called me an early discloser
depicting with sorcerial ease
its fancy, decocted, a tease.