Brighton Beach 1.00am

Brighton Beach, 1.00am (6th July 2008, 10.00pm)

She takes me by the arm,
stumbling in broken flip-flops,
swaying in the breeze,
slightly pissed,
laughing.

Red wine in church;
voices ringing out,
raising the roof with
applause;
the odd obscenity
in the House of God
forgiven, just this once.

And down the hill we march,
straight down to the sea,
arm in goose-bumped arm,
my friends lead me
protesting,
sensible,
cold.

The sea smacks the stones,
curves back, incensed
as the wind blows our hair back,
lifts our skirts
makes us wet
with its violent throws.

We adopt a shrinking fire,
sitting, perched on the slope,
flecked with spray and embers,
filled with light,
glowing with
new experience.