I dreamed of you again last night
is it the Baileys I add to my coffee
are you tempted home
by the smell of the whiskey?
It's you, so it's conceivable
but, in truth, I know you visit
because I insist upon it
You were in your favourite place
an outside table, Mediterranean bar
a syrupy espresso
a clouded glass of Ricard
not enough sunscreen, a smoke on the go
me: iced tea, olives in a dish
we're talking sweet rubbish
"How many did you pack this time?"
you laugh at my scant holiday suitcase
"five bikinis, two sarongs
the essentials - nothing else"
you smile, and lean back to photograph
a yellow awning, against cornflower blue
I take one of you
"Hold on, let me tidy my hair"
you sweep both hands through silver
there's a flash of the turquoise ring
you wear for Jesse Taylor
you light a fresh cigarette for effect
and give your best Sinatra pose
smiling blue eyes
You were different on holiday
you'd sleep well and be so relaxed
almost comically so
like a soft-limbed baby
after a nap. Any pain would be gone
swept out to sea and melted by sun
"Katie, I've been let out of prison"
Then, morning traffic noise seeps in
and the halo of a dim street light
and now I know it's a dream
which will soon evaporate
so I hold on tight to your arm
and your temperature is so accurate
that I'm grateful for those details
the body won't let me forget
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