Tarifa, Southern Spain
where Europe and Africa kiss
across the narrowest of glistening straits

Transcontinental fusion
of sub-tropical cultures
blend and weave their richness
like silken fibres of
an exotic Persian rug

Hotel Hurricane is a
gracious Moorish belly-jewel
Her whited form like pearly alabaster
is all smooth curves
and tautly-pillared lines

Her inner beauty shines out soulfully
behind fancy leaded fenestrations
My pulsing senses are hushed
by the stilling quiet of her shade

Childlike I hide myself
in the skirts of her grounds
covering my face with its free-flowing folds
Many-fronded textures
merge arboreal here
through which the serging Atlantic
may be glimpsed as if
through the eye of a needle;
its pounding surf foaming
like a laundererīs soap

Fire colours pierce triumphant upwards
braziers of free-flying sparks
where clustered flowerheads
emblazon their showy display
Mosaic pools laugh their cooling spouting fountains;
tinkling they tickle the gleaming backs
of basking golden carp
and horny red-masked terrapins

Spoiled and pampered luxuriant
at her sensual breast
she cossets, coddles and comforts
Visual trompes de lóeil proliferate
behind every potted palm and crackling hearth
From heavy carved woodwork
and intricately wrought ironwork
she dandles us from her knees

Rest here in her warm
and voluptuous lap
Yield yourself to this ample cradle
free-falling headlong into oceans
of purest cotton and silk
Pour yourself out into this
welcome embrace of
Mother Nurture

and lose yourself
for a while -
if not forever...

Hasta la vista, Espaņa