Friday, March 4

The Sun & Sunbather

Her thighs spooning up
as lava to volcanoes
laying lazy in the hazy sun
on what; some peaceful holiday

The turquoise of sea caught
a little in her bikini &
the slack wound in by my eyelashes
from the shift of fidgeting buttocks

there Between the house of cards
beach towels & half-empty
paper cups, she face down to work
on her tan, her back carved precisely

in slopes equator’d by tied string
A book open under her head( just
visible past the old lady’s speaking knee)
that sucks from a straw & nods in time
to the sparrows pattering
around crumbs & chlorine puddles

When her bum gets up & goes ,
concealed in abrupt denim ,that it
should erupt from my view— a catastrophe
There’s no longer any reason for me
to recline, adjusting my skull to
exit, & one coffee to close the occasion

Though I saw enough to compose
a poem, nothing more afforded me
( the slightest or weakest glance of curiosity)
so here this & no name
, the sun & sunbather.

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