Cova
Cova spoke fondly of her Andalusian sea
She also spoke five languages including mine
…
Cova wore no prints on her finger tips it seemed
And
At first I thought she was a Basque spy
…
Cova carried the scent of rock pools and raw cotton in her hair
We argued over Dali, Freud and Cohen
…
Apparently
Her husband was in love with old manuscripts
Hence her being there alone
…
I introduced her to butterfish
Then we watched vultures gorge on something in the gutter
…
Her naked foot caught mine covertly beneath the table
She hinted there was something special between her and me
…
Cova promised something extraordinary if I walked
With her along the beach to her hotel
Then she was gone
…