The sky, a plate in kindly blue, smooth as the ceramic face of this, my swimming pool;
the bobbing palm glazing the back of my starfish shape like white liquid icing;
sweet, the water's after-taste; gently pungent smell lodged in the nape of my neck
I will wash the blue off my skin, in a tiled doll-box cubicle I will smell the smell fade out of my fizzled wet-strung hair just as sugar dissipates into the hot nothingness of drinks.
I will pretend to forget, then forget I was offered a plate in a summery shade, bordered by tree branches I was in that half amniotic vessel - weightless
as a seed pearl in an ocean or a lover exhaling in the depths of a kiss;