on a fishing boat
our backs both sunburned
by the sun of May
we sang a kundiman
while we oared to the spot
where pebbles shimmered
like scattered ornaments

“quick. we must hurry.”
you spoke with enthusiasm
as the sun, as we saw it,
slowly nearing
the islands adjacent to ours

but how could i? when your torso
rendered me weak in the hands
you were god-like with firm shoulders
and you reminded me of Maka-andog
whose body akin to boulders