Trapped South of Lisbon

The moon lay on it’s back
Pretending it had decided
To only rest a moment
But it had been asleep
for hours by that stage.
And my mind wandered
In the direction of a pair
Of thinly cardiganed arms
And a lap in which to lay my head
and close some heavy eyes.

My ears lapped up
The collapse of waves
In the distance,
Nostrils sniffing up
The scent of wood fires,
like a hazy gauze,
sweet and wet and smoky.

And as if by accident,
I began to dream.

Açores

Oh you dark,
mysterious women
hiding secrets and smiles
and knives
behind deep brown eyes
and long hair like time lost.

How easy it would be
to ask you to dance
or offer you a drink
if not for all the walls.

Walls of volcanised rock
that line the coasts
of San Miguel and Terceira,
in whose dangerous waters
you move like beautiful fish.

If only you knew
the trouble taken
to ease over to your
sullen tempting forms
and inform
Você capturou meu coração