Loch Leven

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