They caught a water taxi to Watsons Bay
Where the gods turn up the sun.
On lit rocks like lizards they lay
sipping wine and nibbling cheese maturely,
waving shyly to smiling ferries fading in glint.
Fish-flavoured breezes carry laughter
from beer-infused dawdlers
lingering well past their lunch hour at Doyles.
In the early afternoon,
they stroll back to a shady room
and make love to REM,
surprisingly.
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