Vacillations of a Restless Moon

She arrived one summer

like a salty breeze

from across the sea.

Crystal blue eyes,

blue-black hair—like an inner moon

shone through her. I dreamt of her

every night, except for one, when I didn’t

sleep. I’ll get to that later.

I took a job

working on her yacht,

watched her eat strawberry meringues

washed down with coffee. She smiled

once when she caught me staring.

I wondered how her lips tasted

and I bit my own until they bled.

I wrote her name on scraps of paper,

slid them under my bedsheets.

I brought her watermelon once,

which she shared with me.

Ice clinked in our glasses;

conversation and laughter

fizzed and sparkled

like the bubbles in our Pimms Cups. Later

I told her I read Keats; she told me

love was another form of control.

She said, ‘I will have to go away soon’.

She gazed out to sea, white linen trousers

billowing around her legs like sails

in a breeze that would steal her

away from here.

Droplets rolled down her cheek;

from sea mist, or eye mist? I couldn’t tell.

That night, a jasmine scent lingered

on her pillow, sheets, covers.

I tasted the watermelon of her lips.

I inhaled it all, devoured it,

so that I would always remember

the scent and taste of summer 1997,

when the moon

loved me.