Surfer's Winter Tonic

Well after riding the surf, when I wash up
on the shoreline of evening, drunk
on the refreshing keynotes in music,
you are like ice,
checking your watch, eyes to the starry sky,
your breath fanning a camp-fire burning
for the warmest brew of full bodied heat,
where you are all night my dream,
the esprit d’escalier of waves coming in.

We rise from the beach mat sheets,
your morning growl animating the verve
pulsing through the day
where you are all day my zing,
the esprit dancing in the waves coming in.

So élan vital you are – this freezing day
was an empty container, all for a full cup of you.
Your liquid thoughts spilt over last night’s blanket,
kick-start my heart racing home
to warm my hands again around the hot pepper vigour
of your simmering medicinal wine.