Ibiza

Desire weaves us a wave-lashed bed
On which we writhe and crack and cleave,
Spritzed and sprayed with salt and sex,
Tangled in tidal love we weave

With no rest, no respite. Kisses
Cross like sodden clouds, an endless
Storm of scorching dew. Lust's nest
Leaves its tenants a mucky mess.

These sleepless eyes bat leaden lids
And greet a score of kisses more.
A weary wriggle's my poor signal
For rough relief where you've left me sore

And sorer's all I get. This dawn
Is yours, love. When you make me come
Again, load my belly with your balm:
Rich rain bottled, I'll smile skyborne, home.