Lights and islands

a plate of shucked oysters
with salt and sliced lemons.
I don't like them – not really –
but don't want you to see
that I don't. and anyway, white wine
and a course of grilled vegetables
with some cracking grilled fish
on a plate – and more lemon.
and I go to the bathroom
only once to cough handfuls
of bones. flush, wash my hands,
just as if I'd pissed. maybe you followed
me – you cannot hear silence. and afterward
a walk along the dock, looking at lights
and islands. smell the sea,

salt and the flavour of fish. cold ropes
coiling around and the moon perfect,
just like a slice of lemon. the horizon
all oystershell, beautiful, wet
and curved. I kiss you
at the edge of everything
underneath a lighthouse. it's september,
cold as noses, as oysters;
your nose on the shell of my lip.