Hot Heather

A girl named Heather.
A fine lady, dressed in purple silk, skirts stretched over the wire frame of a lampshade.
A fit lady, lit from within.
Fit for one’s bottom, and fit for display, but not
fit for its purpose.
The fine-fit lady, wired up and lit up, is hot.
Hot, she
bursts into flames.
Purple flames – lit up, on
Scottish moor and mountain
A lady in season.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2018
(Inspired by memories of childhood years living in Aberdeen, Scotland, and by a small garden in Suffolk!)
Heather, courtesy of

Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

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