Imagine you’d fallen asleep on the atlas of the world
and had woken, hours later, thinking of your lover and
all the hot countries you’ll never go to with him,
the afternoon sleep you’ll never have,
the contrast of the colours in the garden,
the village women in their black clothes
watching him walk beside you with a striped bag,
and the shyness you’ll feel when he comes
back to you on the beach after a long swim and
later, on the terrace, reading about falling dictators,
while the sea crashes and the geckos walk across
the ceiling, the sound of a dog barking while you make love
and the way he’d sometimes turn nasty in social situations.