Poetry

In the moonlight False Bay looks untouched
still the sweeping water is ice-cold,
in love we are obsessed with each other
and at times our feelings feel age old
as if in our own self-preservation
we do continually reincarnate, know each other
in a great and magical simplicity
(something that I cannot properly write down)
maybe out of a mythological recipe
in which our true love does recreate itself.