​Informal Afternoon

//Untouched by the moment,
a hand dark below me.
A hollow lead brick
fresh escaped from the sea.
 
Indulgent young couples,
still fumbling with buttons,
for skin long remembered
In blank, muted pleas.
 
I’ll cast on this hollow,
awake with convictions,
some toes in the sand
and a page filled with verbs.
 
And you’ll rake the leaves,
just calling me sometimes.
A warm blanket handshake,
in the echo of nerves.//