My picnic basket full
of honourable intentions,
we strolled down through the Moreton Bays
into a salty autumn afternoon
and accents from Vienna,
Prague and Paddington.
You emerged from your European pavilion
and I from behind a rock
into a world of yellow light and blue.
The water tempted even you.
We caressed and were caressed,
peeled off layers of defence,
succumbed to sun and wine
until, late sun mellowing
the sandstone cradle of the bay,
we made our reluctant way back
under the sombre canopy of leaves.
I turned, as the burnt sun
caught your hair,
my basket empty
of honourable intentions.
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