SUMMERTIME

Paint our ceiling sky red
And the walls fir green
Smooth out our prickly pine-needle bed.

I think I love you, you said
And I knew then, it could not be for ever
          And ever
                  And ever
As the clouds whispered passed shepherds’ warnings.

Untie my white sandals
And my yellow kilt.
Kiss the nape of my neck.
Exhale softly in my ear
Sweet, sweet nothings.
Read our palm.
Let me race alone, down the village streets
And clap me as your winner.

Paint our ceiling sky black
And the walls dark green.
Make the pine needles prick our naked bodies.
Play Verlaine’s long violin sobs.
Embrace me in your gossamers
And let the children die.

© Copyright: Christiane Conesa-Bostock