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 hot breath fanning a campfire 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 spilling over last night’s blanket
kick starting my heart racing home to drink you up,
to warm my hands around the hot pepper vigour
of your simmering medicinal wine,
where you are the esprit de corps,
con anima in waves, coming in.

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