Down island,
we disappeared
into the mix,
ate fish soup
just before the collision.

Your design arrived by dingy,
sister-like with your hips,
your curls trapped moonlight,
beautiful evidence of a greater reality.
Everybody hung out on the veranda
in various sites of excitement.
It was surreal
to see so many
burned-out bodies
save yours so tight,
so virile.

It doesn't really matter
who understands
the memories of another,
does it?

And even if I wrote it,
spelled it out cryptically,
it still wouldn't matter,
them others
reading as if they
knew us, 'cause
they weren't there,
not even in spirit.

For how can one truly relate,
describe the bubbles we made
in our own little inlet,
with the orange sun sinking
& the fifty-two footer
sharing space
with wanton
starstruck lovers,
you & me.

And just so you know
blond nanny,
(but I know you never will),
I still see pools of sweat
glistening on your Nordic skin
in the small of your back.