Ivy
By Margaret Poynor-Clark
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You started at my feet
soft tendrils of bright green
tickling my toes.
darkening round my thighs
to a deeper shade of green,
growing thicker, coarser, twisting, turning
your brown branches round mine,
embedding my flesh,
sucking my blood,
fighting for the light.
So pretty on the woodland path
people stop to run their hands
along the rope around my throat.