The Tennis Shelter

(i)
We play tennis outdoors,
lightning flaring on the horizon,
air thick with humidity
and the scent of distant rain.
Under the floodlights wash
diving moths swoop, flutter
and fall, dying, to the ground.
Beneath the tennis shelter,
its white metal gleaming,
a rain moth shelters.
Two bright blue eyes
on delicate brown wings
in the darkness.

(ii)
Drunk with the headiness
of these stolen moments,
you curse my hair flying loose,
long and twining;
while the thunder roars
around the tennis shelter,
chastising us like children.
When the storm eases
we walk away;
You don’t know I glance back
and see your face, unguarded -
as I’ll always remember it.