Rain hammers on windows before the hurricane.
I fling open the wardrobe where summer still hangs; scented with perfume and sunscreen,
translucent silks and satins, a soft voile dress, the colour of July’s sky,
the yellow skirt and cream blouse I first met you in and the spell was cast
like embroidered flowers that vine up the wine-stained cheesecloth.
I shake dusky ribbons of mint-green espadrilles, silted with sand.
Window panes rattle as I roll
candy-striped skinny jeans like seaside rock.
Billowing gun-metal clouds tear apart
as quickly as my heart did.
I remember your burnished look at my gold strappy maxi
With its thigh-high slit.
Your blue eyes gilded me better than treasure,
undressed me faster than this hurricane hits the house.