Sun, sea and sand, and torrid spring
set all the East at play;
I trod you like a cock his hen
that Easter holiday.
Your blue eyes burned right through your head,
the clearest I had seen;
red sealing-wax palms flared against
the dark of forest green.
Forked lightning earthed into the sea
against a stony sky:
shock-headed coconuts bowed low
before the storm’s blow-dry.
The air was warm, the beach was clean,
the weekend crowds were blithe,
and to complete the seaside fun
I buried you alive.
An orchid blossomed in your mouth,
a stoup of purple wine;
the Asian shore’s southern extreme
stretched down towards the Line.