Head dipping like boats on waves. Speaking tongues wrapped in memory, Of pistachio shells Smoke ribbons Bronze. Tripping over silence Stretching endlessly An ocean of lost somethings.
And the air is a frozen kiss Silence. Frost tainted by Smoke-curls from chimney pots Lining the sky like a fortress Against the chill. We wrap in blankets, slip love between us,
Clouds stack like fur coats in charity shops The scents on their pelts lingering Their edges ragged with age. I run my fingers through, sensitive to the nap Reluctant to drag the hair backwards
We see their villages for nanoseconds Passing through like a stag party, with more dignity And fewer lewd jokes. Apart from the drunken lads Still high from a night in town, sprawled
The heat bakes the ground dry. Jaundiced rubble clumping into clods Brittle as eggshells as we stamp melodies To tense melancholy After hours of speeding traffic and no sympathy.