Misquoting Luke

Photo by Gor Davtyan on Unsplash

From these pixelated graveyards

you pull me out.

I remind you I am expected to speak,

to share an eulogy in memory of my home.

But your eyes are dismissive,

they misquote Luke:

Let these waves mourn their own foam.

It all seems so wrong,

but I come along.

You carry me to Paillard,

gliding across a Parisian moon.

The cognac arrives,

for me a tulip,

for you a balloon.

And I can tell you are now smiling

behind the clouds of your cigar.

In your eyes Damascus is everywhere —

a Grand Mosque in Porthcurno,

and a Christ tower in Troon.

And it all seems so wrong,

but I come along.