On Far Emerald Shores

In this flaking down of last light, stars flicker into being
over Åsgårdstrand, Oda’s skin blushed post-coital pink
beneath wind-washed dress, bathed in the fleeting nacre
of lost Nordic summers, she is sinking deeper & deeper
into the peace of this sensual world, and I long to hold
her afterglow in my hands, to feel her pouring up inside,
to break like a wave on far emerald shores, in dreams of
naked lovers swimming the northern fjords, their silent
lips locked in the frozen sunset kiss of iridescent clouds.