Ashes Poetry

ethereal, a slight aromatic
adrift in time, fainter than dew
left after blades flens sward
before its possibility

earlier days’ traces linger;
stale ales, linament,
sweat and certified under-arm deodorant
fails to mask an exotic musk,
rare even to memories, dreams
beyond experience

sniffed with leather
when it edges their bats
or pummelled by ours;
with luck to taste on lips
as they lick fingers
before each dries with anxiety

you’ll get there, don’t worry,
target set, linger in anticipation,
patient ardour will leave them broken
and down. no post-coital cigarette of a win
at the fag-end of a lost series,
breathe deep the heady scent of victory.