In Cadaqués in June the night air shimmers.
The heat from fish-grills punctuates the street.
And strangers try, not hampered much by language,
to fall in love with everyone they meet.
The coastal rocks that days host naked swimmers
are dangerous at night until the moon
illuminates the places you can cling to.
Soft laughter lets me know my world’s in tune.
The laughter’s hers and mine, until we still it.
Much later, we’re aware it’s getting cold,
but, high on stars, and salt, and us, we tarry
to watch the sun wake from the sea, take hold.
Every exotic holiday rolled into one … lovely poem, Alan!
Cheers, Dave. Appreciated.