Glazed Balsamic

Here on the shores of the Payne Gray Baltic

where pebbles sheen zinc and often 

are salted aquatic, she stops to lie prone 

on a birch tree dune, gazes at a flotilla 

of clouds under spell of a shimmering moon. 

Eyes of amber close as she begins

to hum then sing out a jubilant tune

about a party rowdy with plentiful booze, bodies of beauty that simmer and sprawl lazing beside loaves of dark Russian bread soaked in indigo bowls of viscous, glazed balsamic.