Soon after the island slipped off

Her moon-dusted clothes,

Spread herself and waited

For the sea to take her,

The reggae queen began to rinse

My plate and fork.

Her sand-polished eyes framed

The gently angling light

That pitches a tent

Precisely at the centre

Of every iris

That has mapped its way to

Exquisite contentment.

She opened her purple-rimmed mouth,

(As though some relation of the dawn)

And squeezed ripened melodies

Straight from her blackened throat

Into my ear.