She loves having us over.
She loves party’s, with sparklers,
And long afternoons with laughter.
She’s one for the afters.
Smoking sea-grass from the jungle she swept under the ocean.
Bubbling-up gulps from what’s left over.
So much so that the sky is broken.
And through it all she’s grace and composure.
She’s starlight frozen.
Wrapped up in sarcophagus for us.
For the sake, of the night, of the long and lonely mega-bus.
When her warmth can no longer reach us.