Supper was a spicy affair;
cocooned in cardamom and chilli,
the newness of us flickering
against old stone walls.
The black dog slept,
woolly head on its master’s lap,
as Jack’s shape-shifting melodies
softened our edges.
Dusk danced at the door
as you led me outside,
draped your arm around my shoulders
and kissed me as the sky caught fire.
We close our eyes and kiss in caves,
seek refuge in the ‘you and me’ –
asylum from the dervish sea.
Swept swift and beached by brutal waves,
broken, shattered, pieces scattered,
and all the while Plath’s Mad Girl raves.
Hush, hideaway so none can see
we close our eyes and kiss in caves.
Filed under Octain, Poetry
You teased me
as I tripped down the boardwalk,
through wind-blown dunes
in unsuitable shoes.
across rough-hewn pine,
our newness palpable
in candlelit tales.
I felt the sand shift
as I wiggled my toes
– a habit from childhood
when laughter laced my days –
and again, later,
as you crossed the sky,
pulled a star from the roof of the world
and glistered my lips with a kiss.
Blonde light washes the Arno as tender
September night invites the city to bathe
in the balm of the West Wind.
The pink, white and green marble of the Campanile,
visible through your tiny open window,
sits creamily amongst the throng of umber tones.
You chill a young Vernaccia as we talk of
art and architecture; of da Vinci, porcelain
doorknobs and the breathtaking Basilica.
Later, as we cross the Ponte delle Grazie,
in the back of a battered Fiat, the tassita
quietly humming ‘Un bel di vedremo’
and the rain-slicked streets of the sleeping city
sliding beneath us, you gather up
my breath with your own.