I enquired of the receptionist
Quasi-mischievously
Does our room
Have a sea view
If so
Which sea can we see
Where might our eyes fall
When we rise in the morning
Where might my heart fall
When I open
The door or the window
How fresh might blow
The salted air
Into those crevices
Into those cracks
On which our memories depend
How rich might be
That sensual experience
In pulling my love
Closer towards me
