a real dive, somewhere special, it’s unimportant
because I’m coming to get you –
listen out for the gravel under the tyre
of my old Karman Ghia,
revived, for the purpose of this trip -
post-box red, 1965.
I’ll have polished the curves,
packed a picnic under the hood,
and she’ll purr along the open road,
stop, in those traditional neighbourhoods
where I am yours - and you,
you are mine. So book me in my love,
and we’ll go slow enough to see the bees kiss
the pink almond scent of springtime
blossom, slow enough
to remember each time we have felt
anything quite like this.
*
The Nostalgia of Tomorrow
How she moves;
how she moves me,
How she moves;
how she moves me,
my tongue dry as
a bowing dancer tipping on ice.How I need a drink,
the rum and lime fill the glass
and I top it up, top it up, stir;
the bottle doesn't need me, or tomorrow,
like I need this full glass, emptying
like tomorrow, reflecting
on how she moves me,
by the warmth of a winter fire.
dec1/08
littleditty
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