‘A late winter frost, sharp as a church spire,
pricks my alien body in these unfamiliar surroundings.
My eyelids flickered as if waking from sleep.
The occasional beam of light appeared and traversed the wall
like ghostly finger.
I fix my eyes on this strange unconsummated marriage.
This bond, guilt edged, where words are sacred’
From the poem ‘QUANTITATIVE TEASING’ – part of the ANGELSPIT collection – FREE TO READ ON MY WEBSITE at http://www.daveyoungpoet.wordpress.com