I have grown heated under my rind;
At rest behind my eyelids,
While the figs ripen, one at a time.
On the edge of being over-ripe,
I’ve cut out drink and drugs
And you could say I’m rationing my cum.
I get up, engage with my work-out
(Health is my new high)
And then soak in the D
From heaven’s oriflamb
By basking at a balmy angle.
What a great big fruit I am!
But shouldn’t I bask
In the moon as well,
Soaking in whatever she releases
Before I fall to pieces?
Might not her more subtle light
Work on the inner sprite
And set off fermentation
So essence might become
L’eau propre de ma vie?
Make of me an alcohol, oh moon,
That bright young figs take swigs from
When immersed in me.
First published in The Spectator. Now in Songs of Realisation