We’d talked of everything but God,
love was never mentioned
as we slid to the places which hides his name.
You had learnt to stroke women,
undress their corseted seclusion
& we both thought we had a
firm grip of the situation.
Control passed backward and forward
like the bass beat of an elemental ritual,
it was in our bodies knowledge
that we hung our surrendering.
Fire meeting fire, sex meeting death,
& all the people that had passed through
our fingers like dry sand.
That night I dreamt a pulsing ocean,
flung wide the French windows to be engulfed,
in mer-men, horses swimming tidal torrent
knowing the room would be drowned
in salt trimmings
leaving seaweed, coloured pictures .
There is no definition of a future,
by chance we met and chance
is driving the postcard where we write our names
in black and white for the world to watch.
Meanwhile my thighs hold your imprint,
skin bruised a tattoo to stay or
fade with the week’s light,
our feelings an enigma
where tolerance flames in
both our sets of eyes.
Lives unravelled like dyed cloth
spun with invisible movements of animal
longings, drying in the sun of a dawn sharing
on an early morning coupling
where the blossoms hide.