At first I cannot stand the
acid on my lips, the sourness
beneath the sweet. Loretta biting down,
peeling back the rind, swallowing, smiling,
then taking another quarter. I know
I’ll end up savouring the taste.
Just before the first rockets hit
I listen, through the open bedroom
door, to Juan’s singing, strong, sweet
and vain. I know I couldn’t
care less about him, but not,
yet, that I couldn’t care more.
I will wait forever, not because
I’ve romanticised a future for us
but simply because desire holds me,
its hurtful desperation a small price
for stolen moments I might miss
if I let you slip away.
I have grown old enough already.
That approaching years mock those past,
yet in my time there’s much
I’ve avoided learning. The secrets of
my lover’s kiss. What to call
the colour of a Jacaranda flower.