On the balcony of our cheap apartment in Barcelona. A love poem:

You looked so beautiful
dressed in that-
electronic brass.

That copper mist of lamp and damp air
that hung, suspended in the warm above.

I would dress you in that again, my love.
I would sculpt your form from such a stone.
Were there quarry and time,
labour and love enough
to find such an ore.

Your finer strands became glowing laurel leaves
your visage shaded where it was not lit.
Abysses crashing against the coast of your skin.
And all the air seemed gold about you.

I was only a witness.

Perhaps you did not know?
Did not feel the pour against your skin
or hear the gentle hum-
of so many street lamps.

Perhaps you saw me watching you
with wider eyes than normal.
But I saw an Athenian shrine to beauty,
as binmen did their midnight rounds.


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