Scars and those Skirts.
And ! At the closing while the waves break, causing tables to rock the bubbled hood off your cappucio, and the sound dipping, a stranger picks up a shell, from the frothy foreshores and gently presses it to their ear, releasing comforting pink noise. A tricolore gestures in the early morning breeze. There are only shadows laying in the shade of boats, no skin lovers, that are restless for nautical distances. The wrapping swirl, of cloth soothes the suns bitting teeth, Away Africa peeps beyond the clouds afar on that magic line. And the weight, of the ever days, subsides. But scars show in your expression..
she split down her kaftan down the middle
spread hips imagination and playful foreshores
lay down on the beach and listened to the waves
at first the sand ground at her passion but soon
the salt of the ocean moistened appetite for more
as she sailed on ebbs flows and pleasure let free
her lover joined at mid-riff played with her pearl
anchored on their pulsating coral reef of delight
the stroboscope of a lighthouse pointed the way
erect near a beach hut of drift wood and starfish
shadows applauded uncensored communal rapture
until drift spilled ripples and spray into the waft
motionless they remained at the tide line of joy
imagined a wild fire roaring way into the night
retold their story and rejuvenated their dreams
30th December 2020
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