l'isle de toi

We stopped at a taverna on the island.  I wore

a spaghetti strap dress that stretched your smile 

of intent (what you'd do with me when you caught me alone).

I was sipping juniper/gin while language, like hands, played over me.

The bells of ice in my glass, the

disenchanted green table, the smell of soil

so pungent I almost didn't believe.  Baby blonde

hair glittered my thighs

-so strong they held you hostage.

Reflections of half-empty bottles set color

to my face, cast shadows of my 

eyelashes like shadows of fish bones that marked the entrance.

Lazy mobile of delicacy.

A drinker nearby smelled of sweat.  It was a dry heat,

a masculine hot.

And I loved you.

That was the why of everything.