Strawberries

There were never strawberries

like the ones we had

that sultry afternoon

sitting on the step

of the open french window

facing each other

your knees held in mine

the blue plates in our laps

the strawberries glistening

in the hot sunlight

we dipped them in sugar

looking at each other

not hurrying the feast

for one to come

the empty plates

laid on the stone together

with the two forks crossed

and I bent towards you

sweet in that air

in my arms

abandoned like a child

from your eager mouth

the taste of strawberries

in my memory

lean back again

let me love you

let the sun beat

on our forgetfulness

one hour of all

the heat intense

and summer lightning

on the Kilpatrick hills

let the storm wash the plates

In Glasgow

In my smoochy corner

take me on a cloud

I'll wrap you round

and lay you down

in smoky tinfoil

rings and records

sheets of whisky

and the moon all right

old pal all right

the moon all night

Mercy for the rainy

tyres and the violet

thunder that bring you

shambling and shy

from chains of Easterhouse

plains of lights

make your delight

in my nest my spell

my arms and my shell

my barn my bell

I've combed your hair

and washed your feet

and made you turn

like a dark eel

in my white bed

till morning lights

a silent cigarette

throw on your shirt

I lie staring yet

forget forget

• Morgan's 'New Selected Poems' is published this week (Carcanet, £7.95). He won this year's Queen's Medal for Poetry