The Walker Poem by Edward Clapham

Blossoms virginal in the evening light;
night moistured air presses heavy against the skin.
Caressing; arousing.

Stems cascade over fences in green velvet;
furled heads engorged dusky pink, promise and invite.
Passionate; inflamed.

Spiced perfume thick, smooth, Jersey cream;
sensually enfolds like a lover’s warm, moist touch.
Spent; languid.

Grey executives or tired teachers, busy doctors;
worshipping the secure sameness of a good neighbourhood.
Prim; proper.

Middle class, neat houses, trim lawns;
wealth and position displaying, public trappings of success.
Enigmatic; perplexing.

Such currents run beneath this urbane facade;
passions spent within, unannounced to those at large.
Save one.

How alike we are, watcher and watched;
drugged like vernal sacrifice by Jasmine’s physical scent
Me, you.