Queen of Clubs

Standing, arms outstretched
toward her seas of shamrocks, parched
as waits, gentlest gust to slip
the lonely spade, or
if there’s more to play

Noble tongue, forked, of fragile gift,
and you, my King of hearts
revealed, a Knave, scaled and claw,
although denied, to moult would,
in a blink destroy this house of cards…

Life, most precious of all
and his young heart, relies
milk of his Queen, arid
as skull’s lost love, in empty silence,
suckles slow, in darkest mind

A million miles of desert sands,
As none, understand this tantric touch
your hand, the casual glance,
of meanings, and far beyond,
to searing sins in spades

Standing, and still, fading less
as sun breaks through the cloud
the nudging breeze, a nod
towards the warmth of clubs,
decision made, their Queen returns

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!