As if you would burn,
but your over-sized
sunglasses are worn
against that enquiry
of the sky, and mine.

With a five-bar gate
to protect you
from further asking,
from a reach,
I will still take you.

I travel, growing,
in the hardened time
of our over-lit scene;
every item you wear
has been loosened

by my almost-retired
art of slowly stripping,
by eye, back to fair skin,
each layer you wrap
against the sun.