lovers in Brighton
they will search your face as you walk by
their astute eyes like a sharp light
bent in a question mark
are you mine
why walk up the Lanes to Churchill Square
what fun is there
on a Saturday night everything’s closed
besides
Brighton lovers are everywhere
on a night like tonight
appearing right here
right in front of you – just now look
where the double-decker has gone in red
waving goodbye to a stocking left at our feet
like a fainted black snake begging for help
lovers in Brighton
they will sit in every café and bar on a Saturday night
even the forgotten one in a bistro style
where the two of us ended up
you and I in French with some hot American jazz
and Edith Piaf I was trying to sing to you
and in her language
because I liked you so much
people must have thought
you were my lover and
with the two policemen kissing each other
in a window display
who would deny that you were mine
she danced
into a harder colour of time
she swirled
along that undescribed line
where hearts usually shiver out of
the excitement of thought
as if you brought
too many presents for a child
and they don’t know
where to look and what to love
she danced
from a shallow pink to a deep red
with her feet forgotten on air
with her breath bouncing lighter
her cheeks above her lips
even brighter
for a sheer happiness of a dance
performed in a wide stance
of a three year old little girl
in her ballet shoes of a muse
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