Ecuadorway

Sapphire window belly,
a portal from the plane,
the equatorial waistline draws the strings tighter,
on hips ever jangling beneath the canopy.

The hummingbird engine,
a blueprint for the perfectly formed,
the light footed and flitty,
forever seeking a petal to perch.

May Quito’s humidity show humility,
and rain down a shower,
to wash away every bead of perspiration,
glistening on your browning brow.

The monsoons will soak you,
drenched like Eve in Adam’s Eden,
a desire too baked to breathe under,
in a myre too boiling to bathe.

The lake is brimming with leaches,
bad lattitudes craving a bite,
the sapping of saplings above the line,
degrees waste far away.

In the cool 9am light of the jungle,
by the pale grey mists veiling the fax machine,
you could see the silk tie of a tiger,
adorn him in his crisp blue suit,
it’s long empty sleeves,
trailing behind in the undergrowth,
as he opens another email,
that casts kaleidescopes to monotone,
and cc:’s sincerity to a 747, twenty four seven.

Tigers get leaches too, deep beneath their fur.
Ever wary of big black panthers,
and cats with bites unknown.
The vaccine’s still under wraps,
like the scroll that opened your cage,
as a rare red drone ant,
leaves it’s footprints in the waxy seal.

In every tiger sleeps a hummingbird,
orange stripes to wrestle the black,
and shake off the parasites,
chirping roar and a purrpose,
a wistful beak soaked in nectar,
to pollenate the suiters stagnent in the smog,
in the sultry chog blanket of London town.

So go,
dart like a hummingbird, prowl like a tiger.
In the thicket of foliage machete your cares,
a sabre toothed wingbeat,
will bring you home on a cloudsbreath,
slicing a steel path through the blue.

Cirrus so sonorous,
will be strumming the moments on memory’s harp,
as you sit at your desk she’ll be harmonising,
to the whir of the fan, and the buzz of the hard drive.

She’ll make your feet itch,
but it wont be the snakes slithering between your toes,
the spores of career blooming at the ankles,
or even achilles spiders at your heel.
It will be Capricorn,
calling to the jungle boy,
forever bound into your step,
eternally etched upon your sole,
And one day, you’ll respond.


Letterbox glued in Ecuador way Sapphire window belly, a portal from the plane, the equatorial waistline draws the strings tighter, on hips ever jangling beneath the canopy. The hummingbird engine, a blueprint for the perfectly formed, the light footed and flitty, forever seeking a petal to perch. May Quito’s humidity show humility, and rain down a shower, to wash away every bead of perspiration, glistening on your browning brow. The monsoons will soak you, drenched like Eve in Adam’s Eden, a desire too baked to breathe under, in a myre too boiling to bathe. The lake is brimming with leaches, bad lattitudes craving a bite, the sapping of saplings above the line, degrees waste far away. In the cool 9am light of the jungle, by the pale grey mists veiling the fax machine, you could see the silk tie of a tiger, adorn him in his crisp blue suit, it’s long empty sleeves, trailing behind in the undergrowth, as he opens another email, that casts kaleidescopes to monotone, and cc:’s sincerity to a 747, twenty four seven. Tigers get leaches too, deep beneath their fur. Ever wary of big black panthers, and cats with bites unknown. The vaccine’s still under wraps, like the scroll that opened your cage, as a rare red drone ant, leaves it’s footprints in the waxy seal. In every tiger sleeps a hummingbird, orange stripes to wrestle the black, and shake off the parasites, chirping roar and a purrpose, a wistful beak soaked in nectar, to pollenate the suiters stagnent in the smog, in the sultry chog blanket of London town. So go, dart like a hummingbird, prowl like a tiger. In the thicket of foliage machete your cares, a sabre toothed wingbeat, will bring you home on a cloudsbreath, slicing a steel path through the blue. Cirrus so sonorous, will be strumming the moments on memory’s harp, as you sit at your desk she’ll be harmonising, to the whir of the fan, and the buzz of the hard drive. She’ll make your feet itch, but it wont be the snakes slithering between your toes, the spores of career blooming at the ankles, or even achilles spiders at your heel. It will be Capricorn, calling to the jungle boy, forever bound into your step, eternally etched upon your sole, And one day, you’ll respond.




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