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Sep 16
I liked her red bikini
for what it concealed
and what it revealed.

It matched her red hair,
curly and wild.

She had asked
two Moroccan men
to pose with her
and their camel
on the beach.

I didn't know
what their Qur'an said
about posing
with semi-clad women
for a few coins,
but they shyly smiled
as I took the photograph.

Why don't you put on
your swimming trunks?
she asked me.

I didn't bring any
with me,
I replied,
not thinking
about the sea.

You can always swim
in your birthday suit,
she suggested,
smiling.

I can't swim,
I said,
so no point.

She swam
and I sat on the sand
watching her,
smoking a cigarette.

Behind us
was the base camp,
and voices floated
down to us
from the bar.

I watched her
with a secret lust,
which I shouldn't have had,
but did, but kept
hidden like a wound,
bandaged by
my youthful deceit.

I looked away,
and down
at the dry sand
beneath my
all too human feet.
A couple on a Moroccan beach 1970
Terry Collett
Written by
Terry Collett  71/M/England
(71/M/England)   
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