PERSIA'S KISSES

As I waited alone
I was aware of a low late summer sun
Pushing shapeless shadows
Towards the shifting shoreline;
And the waves shunted
Watery white foam in response,
Crashing and withdrawing
With a faultless sense of rhythm.

There were shrills
From shouting children
In the shimmering surf
And seagulls called and glided,
Gorged on cheery chips
And beery batter.
An endless stream of cars
Rolled drunkenly
Through the roundabout
And glasses of diners and drinkers
Stood frosty and dripping wet
On clammy cardboard coasters.

A figure
Made from the softest, smoothest clay
God had reserved for women
Came into my view
And smiled behind a shield
Of designer Dior shade;
With hips swinging and swathed
In scrubbed blue denim stretched taut,
And breasts swaying just a little
As if flirtingly free
Of any unnecessary restraint.

So I grinned too
And advanced my shaking hand
In grateful greeting,
While my heart leaped
And found a fast backbeat
To the cymbals of surging surf.
Then we kissed –
Or, rather I kissed both your silky cheeks,
In my fumbling way –
And I was sure
That Persia’s kind kisses of friendship
Would never be enough.

When the sunglasses were thrown back
Above your fringed forehead,
The spell of sparkling eyes
Burst irresistible
And wholly sweet for me –
Dark and dancing –
I was bewitched, charmed, and terrorised
All in one efficient swoop –
And so it began,
And so it goes on
And on.