down to the deep as the sun stoles itself round the skyline.
The wind goes like a big hand frivolously
across the body.
Singings spin like sounds coming back
in a wisp of rolling tongues.
We trace the descent
of dragonflies
flicking through the water,
their watermark light as cinders.
We clasp pod
with its fragrant pulp,
sweet sheath
fitting the palm perfectly.
And it is time to snog the soil
and count freshly painted stars
running oceanwards
here where there is
only peace my love.
I wish upon you this magic
the moon still blossoming
as we exchange watery looks,
time, tranquil and buoyant, and, ooh,
to get up stark-naked in the hedging
and fall in love yet again, definitely, so certainly.
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