sitting room only

light coming through the open
slats of the venetian
blind
like words you can't quite read
in the gaps of
a well thumbed book
when it is closed, the chance
to
be amazed with wonder again
recharging while the mind
forgets

wraps the grey triangular stone
you
carried back from the beach
for me; the white marble
line
running round edges of sea smoothed

unsymetricality makes it seem serene
reminds me of
the kind of kiss
a mother gives her sleeping
baby

remembering the singing shingle
shore
where sun beat down like a trance track
found
all cracks, licked the darkness out
marrow from bones and you
smiled, melted
in my arms. The sitting room is
cool
and our child's curled in my womb
as I wait for
you to come home