series2bk4.012

 

I sail the sunlit sea in a two-seat clinker, thinking to circle the world's girdle - my girl curled around me - when up porpoise-pop a crop of her memories, which slap away my feet. Seated at table, the game's with a shuffled pack where I lack assurance that former patterns prevail, and failed nerve might forfeit fortune's gains in painful dissolution of romantic status. Mated in love's season (in body and in mind), I find it revolting that other lovers might claim the same degree of greedy fusion - refused no more than I in scores of sexual glory.      It niggles me to look to find my place      upon a scale with rights to her embrace.