Grey. I watch dark water stir up dead leaves,
stare as each one in turn flowers, leaves vague
scent of you in emerald juniper. You
were my first glove, large and warm that evening
along The Quay. The Taw flowed black and silver
reflecting street lamps. Each silk breath hung like
illegible monograms. Your goodbye
was a wish for the next twenty six years.
May they be as wonderful as you are,
a spider wrote. Inaccessible you
smiles behind another man’s photograph.
This too stored somewhere in floral boxes.
Lady’s mantle, Iris, orange blossom,
Salvia—blue, and red chrysanthemum.
Bouquet stems. Left over from other brides.
Dorothy clicks ruby heels and is gone.
© Natalia Spencer 2016
Linton’s Legacy. 
I very much liked that. Who is Natalia?
Trent, she is a middle aged post graduate, working her way towards formal publication. Problem is no one wants her work. Why do you like the poem.
Felt like it was effortless, just one of those things you read that don’t have to come together, they just are together.
Hmm, I will read the poem again. I’m sure the editing helped. Thanks for your response Trent.
Lovely.
Thanks Lori