whenever she's suspended
affixed
at the apex
of my mind'e eye,
she commands my attention

every breath
of hers
is the wind

tempests of life
unfurling
from her tender lips

'pon which
I run
a steady finger
tracing the grooves
of her supple
flesh
as she whispers
my name

her tongue flickers

tasting
the salt of my skin

fresh from the sea
where we first made love

where I carried her
from shore
to fresh water
to be cleansed
by healing waters
and leave the sea's poison
to the creatures
of the deep
the drunkards
of deepest sin

though time has passed
decades now, since then
I can still feel her
straddling my face
beneath
the running waters
silent
save her breaths
long & satisfied
every exhale
was purposeful

and where she lay
I remember
her legs
poised,
inviting

her expression, yearning

the world had passed away

gone, in the midst
of our rapture
and who
could have stopped us
anyway

I remember
my pride vanished
as hours
in my imagination
became minutes
in reality

I had never known
I could be
so weak

spent

how she took everything
I had to give

how she gave me
everything
I ever wanted

how no woman
has ever
given me one moment
as breathless
as a day spent
in love
from the pool
to the beach
to the shower

how no other woman
could trap me
in one room
for decades
and leave me there, waiting
with
no
regrets...

lost fragrances of easy summer mornings
when all she knew was the dirt
between her toes
and scattered throughout her
golden hair.

lost melodies of lazy summer days
when all she knew was the water
of river susurrations
and warmest shortlived rains
caressingly falling.

lost bites of ripe summer evenings
when all she knew was the sweetness
of rose-red lips
and shared apricots with she
of auburn hair.

lost glances of torrid summer nights
when all she knew was the lust
of her youth
and the wine shared between
first loves.

lost times of summer's end
when all she knew was gone.

basemented   this liminal vivarium of cool moulded plastic
             with mirrors standing in for windows
and a ring of branded restaurants taking refuge at the edges
    all familiar     no surprises
the staff set up
         for the consumers morning
                      of slack mastication
      (Local chain, national, international)
  
the old-timers   glomming into clump
    benign zombies
an arrangement of fellas with dissolving jaws
  cudding over mammary notions
       untailored in sacky pallid sultana skins
    reform in a mumble
doing snailish pinball movements
            crossing and recrossing floors
         cleanly tiled for biohazard accidents
               salivating about the savoury soft foods to come

the restaurants rattle-shake-raise their security blinds

also noted
a mixed bag of people projecting
      into their smooth glowing slablets
    making out like worldly fools

also present
cropped and groomed toy security
      peering between the fronds of plastic foliage

offscreen
public bathrooms   the first struggling **** of the day

also present
a bench of  youngsters in bright blue screen matching pjs
  the four employees of sanitation
      drumming up for the shift

see also
vague happy lady in a  garish sarong
importing her holiday religion

butterflied flay of cloud
Rorschach blots
                  cricket white on nursery blue
skilled autopsy of the summer sky
i feel like raw skin having a plaster removed

I know you've heard things about me...
This and that, here and there...
And I also know you're a little scared,
could be of me, or of my beauty maybe...
This and this and this
Yet I know that as scared as you are,
you're also curious about my mysteries...
That and that and that
But if you take a chance on me,
if you step into my shores and feel my breeze,
you'll find that I'm just a beautiful island,
I could even be the best you'll ever see,
nothing more and nothing grand...
yet I could be the paradise you've never been
and I could have everything you'll ever need.
I could leave you exhilarated
with my magic, sunsets and seabed...
And you would leave me sparkling brand new,
like my oceans have never been this clear and blue.
This and that,
here and there,
I want you here now
and I want you near.

Mind worries as sun blazes
dwindling up water sources
held so close like precious treasure,
As earth spins, yearning for change!!

Soil waits in anticipation
Longing for monsoon’s gentle touch
and to hear stories from heavenly sky
gathered by collective clouds!!

Leaves stretch out their eager hands,
While roof tops become willing recipients
To embrace the raindrops
As convoy from the sky above!!

Mind dances as if on cloud nine
As celebration of renewal
Of dried-up life and leaves...
Waiting for the splash of rain
across every breeze in its way...
Of lone long walks with no barriers
between soul and heaven!!

If I cannot be with you
If I cannot see you again
I would still have you
and see you still.
I would see your eyes
in the oceans I would dive and swim in.
I would feel the heat of your skin
within the kiss of the golden summer sun.
And I would finally feel your kiss
everytime I feel kindness time and again.
I would feel your body's warmth,
in every care that will be bestowed on me.
You will be in every island I would go to.
You will be in every sunset I will witness,
that everyday I would look forward to.
You will be in every phase of the moon,
that every night I would look for
and look up to.
You will be in every star
that I would wish upon,
until the very last one
that I wished for you.
If I cannot be with you
If I cannot see you again
I would still feel you everywhere,
just as kindness and warmth
is everywhere, too.

Where the flowers, sand and the rivers are,
that's where I will be.
My breath is the summer breeze,
my laughters are the crashing of the waves.
Feel the solstice from the tease of my kiss,
the monsoon comes
when you miss it and crave.
Where the ocean, stars and the colors are,
that's where you'll find me.
The sun is one with my body
and its heat enamored with my skin,
the palm trees sways, the leaves groove
as I pass.
Thunders are no threat to my heart
and its ever steady beating,
typhoons and hurricanes
no longer scare me at last.
I am a tropical island, I am even a mountain.
I know my views would not be this grand
if not for all the heavy rains and pain.

Saint Tropez is a summer town.
Smaller than it ought to be, really.
Like when you realize the French quarter,
in New Orleans, is just three blocks wide and long.

In the fall, there’s a feeling of disuse in Saint Tropez.
A turquoise bike leans haggard against a stone pine,
and summer leaves gather in gutters like trash.

Your appearance in a bar is treated like a surprise.
The wait staff gathers, like they might take your picture
and not your order - one brings napkins another the menu.

Summer memories are indistinct now, from disuse.
You aren’t sedated by sunlight and warm ocean airs.

Was summer some French, romantic, cinematic fantasy,
like "La Belle et la Bête" or "And God Created Woman"?
Or was it deliciously bright, seductive and real.

You find yourself saying, “In the summer, when the thyme,
lavender, rosemary, citrus and jasmine bloom, the aromas
are strong, actually physical, like going into an Ulta store,
where a thousand delicate perfumes vie for attention.”

But it’s like describing ghosts or deserts under glass.
You search for the words, like a poet or an actress, unable
to remember her lines - lines that would make it real,
invoke it, precious and immediate - like a spell.

The Saint Tropez of summer.