The Poetry Bug

is a moon-pale, lumpish creature
parcelled in translucent skin
papery as filo pastry
patterned faint as a fingerprint
is quite without face or feature
ear or eye or snout
has eight root-like
tentacles or feelers, rough
like knuckly tusks of ginger
clustered at the front.
 
Invisible to the naked eye
monstrous in microscopy
it loves the lovers’ bed or couch
pillow, quilt or duvet
and feeds, thrives I should say
on human scurf and dander
indeed, is never happier
than feasting on the dust
of love’s shucked husk
the micro-detritus of us.

from Self-Portrait in the Dark (Picador, 2008), © Colette Bryce 2008, used by permission of the author and the publisher

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4Wish You Were

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