Honey Poem by Fiona Wright
Honey
I'm wearing a little thin
dress and the space
between buildings and sky honeys.
The road narrows - this,
the treacle time of day
when dogs spill their tongues
under fading hydrangeas
and there's a meltdown of population. How crisp
the lines of buildings, tethering
zebra crossings to broken phone booths,
the hilled horizon
to the highway shuddering by.
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8/29/2026 2:44:11 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
