On the cliff top we taste the sea in winter
the birdfeeder’s chain turns black
iron bleeds rust on the paving stones
windows gather a haze of salt
and the leaves of the rose bushes scorch
but when it turns warm
the breeze is full of the sea’s breath
smelling of sun bleached sheets
and summer’s idleness.
I trace your body with my tongue
taste salt in each loved fold and crease
rise and fall in the swell of your sleep
the ceaseless conversation of the sea
soft in my ears.
title poem from my first full collection published by IDP. out now
available from me and from www.indigodreams.co.uk