Undercurrents

I dream of making love to people I do not like. She is brittle, cold. We hate to meet, always a discomfort in the pit of the stomach at her approach. On a moon-soaked improbable beach; we are lovers waiting for the surf. when the ocean arrives, we swirl into each other like melding tide-pools. My ex-wife settles into my bed, kisses me on the cheek. I drape an arm around her already aroused. For a while we dream through the same window.