The Cure for Anything

Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it – our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal –
Over the sky’s hot rim,
The day’s last breath in our sails.

Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.

As I post this I am on a holiday near the water. While it’s not the sea, it’s close enough to do my soul good.  The photo above was taken this morning; one of the roses that was left outside in the patio table during the wonderful thunderstorm that rolled through last night. The thunder carries across Lake Michigan and rumbles in a much more dramatic way than it does in the city. Even when the storm was far out into the lake, the almost constant flash of lightning could be seen. It lit up the night sky like a Fourth of July fireworks show. In the morning, the sky was a crisp and clear cerulean blue and the world was fresh and washed clean again. A new start.