Little beads of perspiration began to form all over his skin, tanned by the sun's fury.
Jonah stared up at the sky and uttered a sigh of relief when a gentle breeze interrupted the unrelenting heat of the day.
Though the views were nice and he was never at risk of not having something to record or take note of in his water color-stained journal, Jonah knew he was a prisoner on the ship…
one beaded drop of sweat, traverses the canyons
and ridges of his,
finely muscled back
slow ..quick.. slow
in rhythm with his .....
i am transfixed,
by the little bead's progress
hesitant to portend
as it wends it's way downward.
i want to halt...
the glistening jewel's journey with the tip of my tongue.....cat-like,
lapping at smooth milk
but that would be.....
........a bit weird.....
i expect the young god cycling, before me in
the spin class may think me odd
if i leapt forward and licked his salty back....
...but an old girl can dream!