Poetry

Water Safety

I dived into his love
He swore it was deep enough
That it would swamp me
That I could drown in it

The first rush sent tingles through me
Left me gasping in delighted shock
It surrounded me
I could feel it on all sides

Deeper I went
More confident now
Sure, I thought,
That its bounds were beyond my limits

Then, suddenly, unexpectedly,
I hit the bottom
Sharp pain, battering, bruising
Bringing me up short

I surfaced, dazed, as he looked on
Bewildered and upset
It seems there was a difference
In our definition of deep

 

My mother is an onion, my wife is a sardine

"You remind me of a sardine," he said.

Well, I was hurt.
If he had to compare me to a fish
(A fish for goodness sake!)
Surely, surely, he could have chosen
Something with a little class?

A salmon, maybe,
Majestically battling adversity --
Struggling upstream towards fulfilment.
Or a trout, with
Sun sparkling off of
Kaleidoscopic, rainbow scales.

He could have called me a shark, swift and dangerous,
A peacockish angel fish,
Or perhaps, a regal koi.
Any of these, I thought,
Would be a simile that I could accept.

But a sardine?
Hardly glamorous,
Hardly flattering.
A work-a-day, dull fish
and - which is worse -
A convenient fish.

He smiled and lifted a hand,
Gently touched my cheek.
"I like sardines," he said.

All Acts of Love and Pleasure

skin... gliding over skin... barely touching...brushing.
	the paperlike sound of your fingertips on me
heat... blossoming against cool sheets as I arch
	and your breath catching
shadows... deeper than the darkness twining
	and gasps of delight, building
your scent.. mine... meeting
	your pulse fluttering at your throat as I kiss
a tang of blood salt sweat nails and teeth and tongues and lips and bodies
	all acts of love and pleasure are her rituals

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