Places to have Sex

The couch. The one that feels like velvet and has to be washed after because it stains.
The sisal carpet, the one with the rope burns.
The back of his panel van, and he said he'd never done it in there before and I still find that difficult to believe.
On the beach, with the shell grit and the cuttlefish bones and I feel like a caged bird.
In the cupboard, where I feel safest despite the limited opportunities for movement.
On the balcony, and only because of the ecstasy and the hour of the morning.
On the boardwalk in the botanic gardens where we can pretend I am just sitting on his lap.
In the Roma Street parklands before they were the Roma Street parklands.
In the archbishops garden, and only because I couldn't see the fascination she had with it.
In the bus stop because the bus was delayed.
On the train because the train was delayed.
In the restaurant because the food was delayed.
In the playground when we were all grown up.
In the kitchen because of the implements.
In the garden because of the dirt.
In the bath because of the lack of dirt.
In the bed.
Sometimes, even in the bed.