You say I wakened
your libido. I imagine it
snoozing in the
nook of a haystack's neck,
or lying shy, like the bed
of a stream,
wild reeds as its shelter.

Perhaps you'd pushed it
under a shallow stone,
under the dun cover
of earth, scooping the soil
and smoothing the surface
with quiet disguises
nicked from nearby fields.

Then again, it could have
flown to a hot, a secret
destination, and stretched
in a smother of dusk
on bland sand, reading
romantic novels: on a lido,
your libido with a Barbara Trapido.

Or maybe hired smugglers
lugged it in boxes
over imaginary dunes
and larruped the waves
with oars, the shore
over their shoulders only
a distant braid of beach.

Nothing like the truth,
is there? When I drew
the evenings open,
all that I found was
my body's bashful voices -
and the long shout
of our double discovery.






From Love Poems