Luxury discovery
of new islands
in this archipelago
lava evolving life
we are encrusting.
Weekend’s abundance
affords us afternoon nap.
We needn’t be fucking
or watching the telly
or conversing
all the time.
There is time enough
for bamboo shades-drawn siesta,
bodies naked and at ease.
I have just discovered
that you do not fall off
to an easy forty winks,
the slant of urban sky
precursing spring dusk.
You chortle at the day’s small delights.
You rail against the stupidity of others,
you heavy sigh at the dumb luck
of avoiding the Bridge of Snarled Traffic.
Momentarily,
I leave the skiff
we’ve steered here –
just long enough
to fill the brown notebook
you find so charming.
I return to the bed we share,
breath steady from your mouth just ajar.
I rub the rough studded line
from your skull to your bottom,
palm of my hand curved and content.
(cc) Karen G. Johnston
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