you sunbathe on that rock in a one-piece bikini,
waves barely noticed, a backdrop out of focus.
only you, cast in a bronze, alone atop a towel,
atop what often feel like miles from my
older sense of normal. you've got one leg bent;
later tonight i'll slide my hand there, as the smell
of lotion and burnt skin get stuck on hotel curtains.
the honeymoon suite, "la casa de la madrugada",
or "the house of something-something"
as you say in faux-spanish mumblings
when i carry you in from the beach.
these very dreams
are what make me so glad no one can see
how hopeful i am you'll come back to me.
because that would be so embarrassing.
write more. good to read you again. this was clear, honest, simple, disarming; a pleasure.
thanks saadia. good to hear from you, i hope you're well
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