My lover cloaks instinctual drives in English clothes:
Strict go-getter lines over soft panties, softer skin.
She thinks I have a girlfriend, she squirms in jealousy.
Her body overrides her brain in time to let me in.
I am resolved to tune in to her subtle hints: a life
No longer defined by the songs running in my brain.
Once you read this your eyes give you away.
You wonder if this close attention can be sustained.
We laugh, post-coital warmth defuses, mixed with
Unmistakable fumes. Back from a long holiday:
Christmas alone was without sleep, without love.
Redemption found in Valentine’s Irish lover’s day.
My lover reaches over to start another round of play.
Those Christmas lights will have to wait another day.