Walk about

The summer sun stings my already burnt skin.
It moistens the tip of my nose, armpits, neck and back
as I rush to catch the 8 o'clock train.
Inside I am more frozen than Antartica,
more barren than the Nullabor.
This tree-less landscape has yet to make a long face.
But it has stretched the dark night:
clutching, tearing away the Union Jack
covering your porcelain white, honey dew
cherry topped breasts.
I firmly hold on without grabbing too hard.
I try to fathom the secrets of your deep blue eyes,
as I slowly enter the inner moistness of a million jelly fishes
who inject the base up to the tip of my spine
with the most venomous desire.
I hold back and scratch the back of my legs and buttocks.
I ruffle my sheets and clutch at pillows.
he spurt of a jaunting alarm clock
awakened me to a surprisingly bright morning sun,
peeling through the moist blinds of this walk-about.