Waltzers and wurlitzers swivel to mind,
couples whooping
in a wildly revolving scallop,
a topsy tureen. On a pier. The planking

taps to the feet, informs the sea
of heels, toes, the yatter
of lips and pearly teeth, gleaming
in the double dusk.

Months of maybe, and yet the single
crystal ritual
of holding a hand, a ring, a word
on a tipple of tongue:

what the simple tuning fork
finds in the heart's echo. Something
quite unlike lust,
a dervish of reverberation

pumping the soul's sweet adrenalin
upwards. Three years ago
you stood at your fairground awning,
orange and white, spingle-

eyed, on a coconut mat.
The caramba of laughter, like the juke
music of the travelling moon.
In a moment. Dissolve. In a moment.

From Looks Familiar