The Circus II.

I bask in the light
of hot words,
stolen kisses
and forehead-still moments.

I fall, swaying,
onto his lips.
He enfolds me,
steady hands
and gulping breath.

The circus is on hold around us;
this is it.

You Are Now.

April showers,
blow-away cobweb breezes,
last low sun rays
and sound of beach waves,
this is where your love lives.

A rippled reflecton,
raindrops big, fat, breaking;
that breathe-in-deep,
soak it up feeling,
this is where your love lives.

Once, we touched in a low-lit bar.
Once, we kissed outside.
You are the sleeplessness that stings my eyes -
I am still yours.

Was it, are we...?

Did that hunch woman
and trembling man,
were they, are they
us?

The time that rolls across the beach
on which we sit
says yes.

The feeling,
as old as the sand,
tumultuous as the waves,
laps over me.

Words behind sealed lips spill out;
I love you.

Found.

I find you again
in the folds of a deep-soft,
tossed-aside jumper.
Breathe in the smell,
gulping down a presence
that jumps through time.

A single image, picked out
like a favourite teddy.
Nostalgic-fuzzy,
like yearning for youth.

I float and pause;
that crest of a wave
that should rise and linger
on happiness,
feeding its momentum.

But it crashes down,
and my eyes open.
I stand, and realise
what a sad image -
a grown lady, clutching a worn jumper.