Going back, last days we spent them

on the verge

of the peninsula, behind hills,  

feeding each other peaches and banana chips,

to your father’s sailboat,  listening over

and over that song ‘when it's good, it's so, so good
when it's gone, it's gone’

it was already dark and my head drooped forward,

limbs grew loose and

clung to each other, when you touched my nape,

I flinched, embarrassed, and that is when we saw

two flickering eyes in the bushes by the road.