Bali

Flying over the Indian Ocean,

looking down on archipelagoes

in an ultramarine sea.

Descending, I imagine

painted fishing boats

and palms. The arrivals hall

full of imposing, slouching

immigration officers.

Then the tropical heat,

like a hot wet flannel

over your mouth.

Tumbling into the taxi,

the noise, the bustle,

the singing minarets

and psychedelic temples,

the colours turned up,

the swaying palms,

made just for me.

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