Black dress dripping
from shoulder length –
only a mannequin yesterday,
today in the flesh,
sour at corners,
sparkling flesh glowing
in the sunlight of desire.
Whisps of tangible smoke
which I let out
from between my lips
contest strongly against the evening clouds
to draw your attention.
Your attention is denied, rather
concealed behind the grizzly fall
of your brown hair on your face as pale
as the paddy fields.
Arms crossed you stare
and your toes at your clean feet wriggle –
feet so clean – I wonder how you manage
to keep the dust off
in this dry island.
Dusk falls and only an orange tint remains
in the western sky
and your feet fall back to a place which you call home.
I only wish that I was a regular visitor there.
Art by Norrie Harman