Blistered sun low - cloudy pink red –
Sketching crass corrugated horizons -
Rolling sand hills housed an old surf club’s shed.
Seagulls active - issued harsh shrieks and shrills -
But I had peace and felt no need to stir.
Salty, fishy smells mixed with spiced perfume
On each recurring wind gust messaged her.
My muse had led me to a strange shoreline:
Stretching long and gold and quite new to me;
And we sat at the rippled water’s edge
Within the reach of lapping, soothing sea.
She wrapped herself around me close behind -
So my head could fall back upon her breast –
And she fingered my hair, stroked my temples,
Rendering my damaged heart sweetly blessed.
Her teasing whispers reached my eager ears -
Sliding like silk from Esfahani rugs –
Filling head, heart and loins with glad desire –
Tingling spine and shoulders to cheerful shrugs.
My hands drew line patterns on her smooth legs
That held me safe like arms on a kind chair;
But not so firm that I could not turn ‘round
And please her with each kiss I had to share.
Dreaming we dozed and watched the waxing tide
And the setting sun’s warmth drained right away.
Then we, inspired by fast rising passions,
Became flotsam, swept up in our love’s bay.