It skips, like a blip in time, bouncing upon the sea,
The wind purrs and paws at your hair;
Finally, your thoughts are running free.
The golden haze on the rosy crests, swell – and fall –
Running away as though there’d never been
A play-boy’s ghost ship, slicing through the Gulf of Naples –
reaching through the morning mist, all the way to Capri it whisks.
Like the swirling dresses of ballroom dancers; feathery white trims,
they bubble and float.
You’re in a rich man’s world, but there’s no wall or anti-social moat.
Spread your arms, turn up your palms –
Open out your being. Mixed together, we’re so much more.
Jutting cliffs, a fiery beige. Crystal waters; it’s time to laze.