Cocooned Under Doona

We are held in apartment’s arm nestled 

in bed like cygnets in wings.

You trail your finger down my leg,

blow warmth to neck’s nape,

roll tongue over skin like melted ice.

Right now,

a crowd gathers on Manhattan Street,

tradings take place on South China sea,

teens travel highways, hands sketching breeze.

But here we are: cocooned under doona,

our isolated pocket of globe. 

Outside the weather chucks a tantrum

but under doona all is still—

still like water under waves.

The sheets smell of sweat and Seabreeze

and I think 

there’s no foreign place I’d rather be.

Gum

Gum turns to rubber in mouth

peppermint pulled through strings

vibrant green dissolves to bleach.

On either side of us land stretches

like rolling dough,

horizons sifting—

Trees blend until I forget which way is up.

I know which is down.

Your eyes are vacant,

only the road tunnels through your irises.

You take gum, scrunch

paper, toss out window.

My hand jolts to reach it

then lands limp,

Paper ball spirals though air

landing—

dejected—

on bitumen.

Tasteless?

You used to devour me.

Love my scent.

Lick my flavour.

You found peppermint fresh.

Now, it’s run of the mill.

You taste different too

can’t put my finger on it.

I take gum from mouth—

lightly—careful not to become

entangled in its sticking grasp.

Fold in a Woolworth’s receipt.

No money back on that.

Gum rubbery and devoid of flavour.

I ask you to take the next turn.