Ava

I wake to a lemon light, my lover lies supine, everything now is all right, sunrise on the Levantine, where Cavafy lived and died, making verses to Alexandrine, in Arab clothes taking tea, an iron kettle on the fire, his heroes look to Constantine, salt whorls a global tone, swallows thrum yellow skies, her dancing shakes lovely bones, and exhausts the loins, of last night’s wine, she won't want to dramatise, or turn need to fight, the dawn of early disguise, lights from our Valentine, hot brown days go by. tidal stones draw them near absence of any pain as if this hurricane no fire or blue reason she won't ever see above us the sky looking out she sees the sky, her e cigarette treated, like a wing on the lee, a horizon that's bright, she thinks she's a celebrity, the wind is all seeing is clear.