The House of Words

House of Desire

It fogs up the windows,
makes the air thick with sap
and pollen and dusty flakes of skin –

everything suspended
so it catches at our breath,
blurs our eyes. So we fall

together, lazily magnetic,
stay charged and held
in the truant afternoon.

Back to Books
Robert Seatter
Poet, Performer, Broadcaster and Arts Professional
BOOKING