Poetry

At ten o’clock some rain pours down,
outside the sea lies angry and grey
while larger and larger waves
continually crash onto the beach.
 
Below the tarmac glistens,
the car-guards are wet to the skin
while it looks as if a river is flowing along the road
and in the distance fog clouds blotch out the sun up to the horizon
 
while some brave men surf
where in the stormy weather they find gigantic waves
and when later I do awake you,
you glance with big eyes,
 
draw me down to your hot body
and further I cannot write about our escapades.