Sun winks back at me
off the smooth pool surface.
I cannot say if its deep,
or blue,
only that
it is
bright.

A thousand freshly shorn blades
of new green, green grass,
waft up,
to fill
flaring nostrils 
full.

Sunday afternoon crackles on coals,
zipping flames, orange and gold.
A toast of mushrooms brew,
while liquid
claret swirls
On my
tongue.

She comes up behind me,
silver  bangles, and drop earrings.
She smells
like dew,
my dawn
awakening.

I hear her deliberate jibbing,
her prodding, and her poking.
She tells of his secret
tattoo, where 
it is
etched, and
how.

My heart crumbles like Feta,
white, pure, salted and sore.
A clarity, clear aching splinter
that cleaves
and splits
through.