December 12, 2010

I’ll use days like this
to pave alone and somber
a fixed point on the horizon.
I’ll archive it in smile muscles
to prove that I once lived.

She smiles through her skin;
her hair smells always of shampoo.
Not at all unique until you consider
the context of her skinniness:
wavy drifts etched in the sand,
a mountain behind, saltwater
everywhere and everything else.

We played with the idea of freedom,
bouncing it around just a word
without meaning. From our towel
while dogs crashed in the waves
we found Adam & Eve innocence
ironically clothed in shame.

The hull of the Atlantic
shrunk to kiddy pool size
when we let our leaves drop.
Woman became baby fat
barrelling toward a sprinkler;
man a two-toned wetsuit.

Pushing breakers out to sea
skinniness was the new standard,
in a good way. The fat of our time
was padding to barefoot back
to normal after swimming naked
in the moment within a moment.

LOCATION: Florianopolis, Brazil – A day with Stela at the nude beach Galeta.

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