At the café, they set tables on a narrow stretch
A wedge of shorn grass giving way to rock, to sand, to shore
Staged by an unseen hand to entertain the wanton inclinations of fate
A tale unfolds: chance in the fading twilight
The woman approaches in silence
In silence resting
Her cheek against the back of his neck —
Done quickly lest time run out,
Lest he say no, her arms
Encircle
It’s needless, he thinks, and after all this time too much of a liberty
He pries them apart with easy execution
Half annoyed half curious he stands to bow in greeting
When he spied her at that table with her chatty friends what did it matter?
The hour was late and the ache buried.
Unobserved
He focused west into the riot of purple-saffron hues.
You’ve grown a moustache she says
I’m thinking of shaving it off he replies
Her voice is mellowed by resin-wine
And sea mist has settled on her lips.
He remembers the taste of her lips
They stroll at the edge
Where broken waves drift ashore
Pebbles and shells crunch
Quelling stretches of silence
In this diffused light of their twilight
Let’s climb there, the woman decides
Where will it take us that path?
Below, the deep is wine-dark
Its belly resembles the wine-dark within us all
“Don’t let go.”
“I won’t.”
Choppy water travelling in circles
