Nowhere Poem by Oliver Roberts

Your burst apricot breath,
Pillows
Smelling like unmotivated bells
Drudging in the heat,
And the small boy listening,
Dressed in brown and black,
Launching warm boats
From the gutter.
And in this bed,
Hours of dropped ice creams
And your wax crayon mouth
Full of scribbled pictures,
Everything I had tasted.

We flung the nudity,
A greenhouse residence
Of our treetop limbs
And errant wheelbarrows
Full of stones
And dough,
Out of open windows,
From where a surprise sun
Broke through your breasts.
Your skin had its coolness,
A sudden day off in the week,
A feint drizzle on horseback,
A front door painted white,
And the sound of the removal
Of muddy boots.

What we did in the night,
The dented eye shadow,
Fibres peeled in the hot dance,
Our Chinese lantern language,
Lay sodden still in our arms.
We spoke sometimes,
In between sleeping,
Baby nail bed conversation,
See-through skin
Gleaming off the soft invasions.
I had your face on my fingers,
And I saw people
Selling squashed strawberries
At the height of summer.
Side-by-side
We lay uncovered and staring,
Almost touching,
Laughing at the surprise.