Kelly's duck and I
chase clouds where
they meet the sea
and make a million
eyes and reflections
like awkward vines
and connecting trails
of gold and orange,
mixing with the sun,
becoming wrinkles
that separate
in all directions.

We're like plastic
now, floating in
Kelly's breast,
Being held,
Her tanned skin,
In her hands,
clouds descending
Her shoulder
and her face,
turning into a
slithering tail
like a snake.

The bathroom lights
draw shadows
from her slippers,
in the thousand nights
we've slept together
she still runs
the bath alone
and naked, quietly
while I'm asleep,
becoming one with
herself and
lamenting to plastic.