I remember the Canary Islands,
I remember them well.

The patchwork of rock on the roadside,
And the glasses of wine on the balcony.

How I remember the fruit we would carry
Up the mountains and down to the pool.

I remember the permanence of the coastline,
And the fake opulence of the hotels.

They stood arrogantly from the cliffs,
Bleach white and scented with sunscreen.

I remember the movement of your body,
So ******* shadowed from the sun,

As we walked those many miles
To find ourselves a bit of fun.

We dined out by the seaside,
And we watched the tourists meet.

They lay sprawled out on their blankets,
Sunburn on their feet.

I find myself speaking in rhyme,
When I think of the simplicity

Of you and I in the sun,
Away from the din of the city.