WE FLOAT ALONE:

 

We float alone in a sea of white linen, me & the notebook, 

cruising breakfast like flightless bids, one choosing fruit, 

the other…words. In walks a delicate boy with quaff-erred hair, 

horn-rimmed, beautiful, sleeves rolled up crisp, inch perfect.

The note book plots his course across the room as I skewer melon. 

Morning sunlight sings through plate glass walls, we watch it casting 

shadows deep & black between unnatural architectural trees arranged 

like chess pieces, kings & queens watching our five star sanctuary 

from the luxury of perfect lawns, awaiting the fingers of giants. 

In walks Torpedo woman, I don’t see her face but I hear her coming, 

talking loud to the delicate boy as she crosses the room at speed,

oblivious to our reverential floating, oblivious to everything, 

focussed hungry on the prize of her solitary beautiful boy. 

The note book opens to receive, the pen dances across the page, 

sinuous curves & curls embrace, laying ink as joyous as the dance of 

feet to kick-drum grooves. Her mouth hurts my ears, but I don’t 

glance, imagining a face, her tones abrasive every thought falls out 

between her violent lips – relentless . The delicate whispers of the 

boy, she broadcasts everything he says directly to the pen & page & I 

won’t glance for fear of letting her know this dance is choreographed 

alone for her. 

A lover? – no, though I entertained the thought & shuddered. How these 

two come to this time & place, such incongruous union could never be 

so misconstrued as lovers. 

A business arrangement? A manager? An Agent? Yes! – an agent hotly 

courting one so fresh & up & coming, flew in just for the occasion & 

almost blows it sycophantly (but does he notice, does he care?) now it’s 

clear he wants her just as much as she wants him – they were made for 

one another.

 

(K)