A bed

A bed’s being dragged across the sky

for a better sea view

of the twinkle fairies flickering

and the sailors whispering

of where you’d been and with who.

I hear you roll around wrestling thunder

as I say your name silently

like I’m eight again and pillow wet.

Sand pelts my car like hardened rice

before dancing and swirling

doing the Gay Gordon’s.

The roads carry your feet

your breath, your deep roll of laughter

I wonder if you thought of me

as I waited one-eye opened.