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The folding
She calls him out
into the garden
it’s late afternoon early autumn
sunshine
two sheets two duvet covers two
pillow cases
sailing in the warm breeze held aloft by wooden
clothes line props
two peaceful fully-rigged galleons on untroubled seas
one set a fading red the other white stained pink
against a cloudless blue sky
These are the steps to the dance, the folding:
she walks towards him arms held out
an embrace or an invitation to a fight
their eyes stare into these possibilities
he looks away first
Always him
then the exchange of corners a little clumsy
with the touch of skin against skin the intimacies
of strangers of familiarity of
fingers lingers
the music the colour of original sin
he steps away steps back pulling the sheet taut
now they are fish caught on a line hooked
frozen wanting
to tear themselves free
Yet somehow it seems to them both both
sweet and sour
this favourite day
these minutes the fleeting
seconds at this hour
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