Poetry: The Book of my Enemy — The Deep Six | clivejames.com
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The Deep Six

Because the leaves relaxing on the water
Arrange themselves in attitudes of death
Like mannequins who practise languor
I know it must be autumn in the sea.

When the time comes for me to take you there
Through hanging gardens, and all colour trails away
To leave your eyes entirely my secret
And your hair like smoke rising

You will never learn from me about the winter
That will keep us locked at wrist and lips for ever
Like a broken clockwork model of a kiss
When everything is over, where we came from.