Vacation

Our sheets are wet with sweat

As we wake in the furnaced light

If only, a sea-sand holiday it was

Where balloon balls bounce around gayly

And pastel shouts, ice cream melting,

Trickling down the spines of fingers

Tongues ready to lick the sticky slick –

If only, indeed

 

But powdery Portugal will have to wait

Just last week

You lay on me

Twisting yourself,

Merging with my limbs like a salty pretzel

You fell into a rhythm:

Quiet waves of slumber caressing

 

You, I held

As the rain spluttered on glass

Spring softness, shiny jewels

Glittering grey against the backlit green

Made ever-so vibrant, intense

The promise of sun

Through verdant plumage

 

Made beautiful by wafting Nina Simone

And Ella Fitzgerald

And Moon River

Made beautiful by the sweet songs of bygone days

Of other people’s affections

 

But, I’m having a crimson romance with our love.

 

And with our bedspread, our glinting forks and our mason jars

(Poised to be domestic and used)

 

I’m having

A dancing tryst with your calves

Plump plums, juicy to sink white enamel into

Gnashing your goodness, savouring your kindness

Pressing your gooey insides to my breast

And stroking your Lynch-like hair

 

You’re my vacation by the sea and I drink in your

Seashore eyes every day.