Old Appetites

The sea is flecked in sunlight and his eyes
just travel the horizon, gazing east,  
Attendant on arrivals; he supplies  
An air of restfulness; but I'll not feast    
Until he is sat back and his hands grip  
Those chair arms; looking steadily ahead,  
He bids me kneel and, then, undo his zip;  
My eyes look up to his; resistance fled  
A long, long time ago; hearing, outside,  
The rush of waves against the rocky shore;  
I listen and I wait to taste the tide  
(or, certainly, the splash) he has in store  
To break my fast and offer him delights,  
As dawn arrives to wake old appetites.