Seven Admissions

The trees are equal to the wind tonight. 
Our thoughts are in a foreign town. One dream 
gives the lemon wings—and the orange flight.

What if the owl contrived to get inside 
our room. A white owl with emerald eyes. 
Would there be head-space in which we could hide?

When we last spoke, we suggested the sea. 
Your white triangle underneath a white 
thong-backed V’d isosceles bikini.