Idaho

You give a smile at Faro, the beam bounces in our room, salt from last night’s tide comb, when you rise from the covers, face a relic of alternate gloom, are you solace or a lover, useless at catching the tone, a matted highway of warm refuge, you reveal all your bones, for dreaming you wonder, on some road you’d rather lose, or like me see plundered, love you gave to lonely souls, carpet salesmen consumed, beneath your weave of rose, the sea crashes all alone, a disco for your retinue, green and gold like the foam, explosion of your perfume.