This was an attempt at a mood more than any real narrative.
Though I suppose there is a story here.
There's always a story.
You take off the purple shirt when the sun goes down
Placing the iron in the cupboard while it still glows – you’re
using the mister on us – the fan’s
going at gale speed and I’m putting on my leather
Lacing up the back – taught and crushing ribs
The purple on the sand looks like water in moonlight
Puddle of t-shirt – spoonful of sun
There’s that song about it weighing a ton – Superman
couldn’t pick it up
I did think it was time to get on the boat
The tourists will all turn their heads when he says September
They take pictures with their Sonys – save ones where breasts
look pendulous – bronzed
You leave your clothes in on the shore – denim breadcrumb
I will pick them up and wash them – wait for you to grow legs
Swim like that fish in that movie for me
like some koi in a pond in Santa Fe
They’re just expensive goldfish – just enlarged morsels