The evening ascends on a great strange blue string like a kite going to heaven all alone

Your skin glows like a green mussel shell in the Negev desert  in winter, blossoms white as the Burberry Mac in the purest rites of spring in Tel Aviv where I got my pen on eBay or Haifa
My yearning parts rise to your flute;s voice and leap like a  hot cat at the whisper of your name, Mary
The evening ascends  on a great strange blue string like a kite  going to heaven all alone
I am calmed by your  pink chiffon scarf that I carry into the house and hold next to my  sharp knife  to kill burglars
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of hot water with my hanky from Jenin refugee camp where I spent my spring holiday aiding the children
As my  heart  attacks  failed  to kill me it reminded me of  those walnuts  wasting in my trouser pocket
Don’t worry, they are no trouble to me st all, they are like  the marbles we used to play with
In the bush, I listen for the last  screams of the   cyclamen and the anemone
My heated yarn leaps  from my lips like nylon thread off a spool in a thunderstorm
I wait in the mystical moonlight for your secret codes so that we may  decode as one,  brain to brain
in search of the  vulgar and common country of love known to  the  illiterate and the wilder animals
Do not fear.I am a virgin at heart and I will not touch you unless you desire my love to be shown that way and I respect your  virtue otherwise I’d not bother writing all this stuff so poetic and newly revisee
We can go to the chip shop and then listen to THE FUTURE sung by the little Jew who wrote the Bible
Then we will cry all night because he seems to be right.
Well ,it was  nice while it lasted
Next time we might cross  the Jordan and ascend into heaven, God willing.Amen
That is the end of  prayers on  BBC Religion for Today