what buds on the tongue
is the unproven dough
of a morning, blue
as your first-kissed body.
You try and conjure the waterfall
of a running tap, colander fat
with the day's haul, a mouth
stained with joy. But this is central
London and there are trains
of people longer than any hedgerow.
What hits at the back of the throat
is a necessary reminiscence:
acidic, bittersweet, autumn's overdue gift.
Christian Ward is a UK-based poet with recent work in Dust, Free the Verse, Loch Raven Review, Cider Press Review and elsewhere. He won the first 2024 London Independent Story Prize for poetry and the 2024 Maria Edgeworth Festival Poetry Competition.