silverwheel
Bluelighter
Los Amantes
Dusk hits,
a rest from the voluptuous indulgences
of our first vacation.
We lie side by side,
sand bed cooling our reddened backs,
and saltwater extending to the horizon,
scenting the air like a familiar fragrance.
The sun drops, cut from a string,
and slides to orange,
coloring her skin
resting against mine.
I speak of the guesthouse,
of pesos in the sand, of the cacophony
of restaurants and boatrides,
yet I drift,
to glimpses of rest, water, another,
a thousand miles away.
She darkens.
Her words dissolve, pass around me like air,
and I forget them, distracted with
failing light.
Dusk hits,
a rest from the voluptuous indulgences
of our first vacation.
We lie side by side,
sand bed cooling our reddened backs,
and saltwater extending to the horizon,
scenting the air like a familiar fragrance.
The sun drops, cut from a string,
and slides to orange,
coloring her skin
resting against mine.
I speak of the guesthouse,
of pesos in the sand, of the cacophony
of restaurants and boatrides,
yet I drift,
to glimpses of rest, water, another,
a thousand miles away.
She darkens.
Her words dissolve, pass around me like air,
and I forget them, distracted with
failing light.
