On The Beach

Mymuse has come home…

Heat sits in the bones.

It’s a supple old age,

all ice cream cones

and leaves of crispy sage.

So let’s be doing –

renewing ancient wooing.

Lapping at the saucer

of old cat’s cream.

Living the dream

isn’t a reverie.

It’s every day reality.

Though sunburn stings

on things we should

have covered; yet haven’t 

bothered.

For when you’ve 

other fish to fry – 

then you and I are we.

And we’re beyond 

the need for carping

creed and familial critique…

That’s weak and watery

and pales our golden vision.