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I’m sprawled on a concrete
roof, among clouds
in a fading blue sky; paint in my hair,
on my breasts, in my skin, in my teeth.
Oil saturates and dissolves the Saturday afternoon
in a scent of turps.
Tonight I’ll paint another future.
But not quite just yet.
The man is out there – let him wait.
His spit cannot touch my mouth,
but the images form in my mind -a kiss
concealed between layers of grease,
and the dusk of Greece.
Today: green hands.
A dog whose ears massaged my fingertips,
tempting me away from loneliness.
Dusk is the scent of the skies
as they blow slow autumn
over mountains merging purple,
while twilight hides in the music – in the blues.
The sky has only half been painted.
Orange thighs and dusty kneescast two long shadow-hills.
Where did the sun go – suddenly?
Flames streak the western light
and in the silver east the pregnant moon is rising.
My world is about to flip – tonight’s the night.
I clean myself in the dirt and howl!
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