The rain pissed down on Leven’s shores.
The sane rain would rain on superstores
And set off car alarms in our street.
Let’s burn our clothes and hunt our meat.

A day of skies, a day of feasts,
We fell to bed, to grunt like beasts.
We could live in your wee car,
We could never go too far.

A flash of sun between your thighs,
A perfect black shape to protect my eyes.
A swooping hawk, a dying tree.
“Fuck me,” says he, “fuck you,” says she.

If I’m a clown, then you’re a mime
But I’m sure that we’d be friends in time.
The selkie put her skin back on
And swam away, back to her own