Nancy Byrne Iannucci

Watching Wicker Man

gave me the muscle

to ignore you,

delete your text messages,

pull you down

to a reedy ivy

path, bluebells

ringing loudly

in your ear,

the sun smelling

of sea between

your legs,

so sweet & innocent

as the scent of maple

wood smoke & 

prickly heat,

tickling your feet,

before you know

you’re the sacrifice

to the god

of Narcissus.

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