to desire than than
the smell of seaweed
by a salt blown beach hut…..
Just sling me a green hammock,
with iced prosecco in a crystal glass
to moisten my wild whispering, wandering lips
and I will charm the sirens of the sea with my singing……
there’s minimal living in my simple space.
Come slide your aging, well trod,
pale skinned foot across the
threshold to be close to
mine and sing with me;
there are seasounds
in our souls.