You hardly moved

lying like a sea slug

in sepia,

dreaming of sky fluorescence.

As if reading braille

you ran your fingers

over tiny shells,

a trail of ornamental bones

on bleached sand.
Hours later the moon rose,

full breasted,

white Godiva,

flaunting it

for the green tipped

crowd,

for bleeding eucalypts

& saffron-sprinkled

lichens.
At dusk we left the

gossamer bay.

Your body heaving,

breathless from exertion

wanting to break

the shackles

wanting to enter

the spirit

of all these forms.