Oboe

January 8, 2008

‘If my love
had an hourly rate
you’d be bankrupt.’
This she told him
whilst he was making
cheese on toast and she
was hanging herself against his back
stroking his spine like a long
oboe. He said –
‘yes – but if it did
it wouldn’t be love
would it ?’ –

and she agreed
lacing her fingers into his jeans
5 slim others making tea,
two thin cups
painted Klimt
over white porcelain.

Pausing- as she lifted up the fluted rim
she pointed to the
two blue lovers – moon skins,
painted in a swirl of russet
gold hands clutching
at each others faces

She pressed her cheek
against his palm and turned about
against his mouth
and told him ‘see?’
still as a lizard or a wild coyote –
‘just like in the painting’
and he said ‘yes’
And smoothed her hair.
And stirred the milk.

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