ivy

he tells her he loves her. she turns away. a light breeze blows a wisp of her soft brown hair revealing a slender fair neck . the air smells of ripe pineapples.

he moves closer. the waxed floor creaks. he places a hand on top of hers. she turns slightly to face him. he catches a whiff of the scent of her hair. she looks deep into his brown eyes. "let me love you." he bends his head to kiss her. his soft lips tender on hers. they are perfect together.

she places her head on his chest. smiles to herself at the heightened beating of his heart. his arms are strong around her shoulders. he will not love any other. he will not leave the island if that's what she wants.

but she wants someone else. someone who wants someone else.

the embrace is too quickly over. dreams are too quickly gone.

but not the scent of her hair. not the weight of her head on his chest. not the feel of her lips against his teeth. not the broken promise in her eyes.

her name is ivy. he will not forget.

beached

"later," he says much wearily. stands up and bends down to kiss her forehead.

she places her hand on that spot beside her. that shallow impression he left on the sand. scoops a little and lets it pour, the fine white sand- some caught in the wind and floats away a few yards. with her palm, she smoothens the sugary powder. a beach crab gingerly walks past, snipet in the air.

she lies in wait for the moon. in her mind she sees the starfish she threw back to the sea. the orange suckers folding at the touch of her fingers, the blue and yellow pattern on its back reminding her of a watercolor experiment another lifetime ago.

the air is too humid. the sheets burn his skin but he is too deep asleep to bother.

she stands up. the high tide has reached her toes. rhum shoots up her brain. "fuck," she says bending her knee a little to keep balanced, a hand in the air- the flicker of the cigarette like a firefly lost in flight.

he dreams of her. he dreams a dragonfly has taken her away and he is running after them- an arm stretched out towards her. but she is smiling, her short curls caught in the wind.

she picks up a piece of dead coral and puts it in the pocket of her denim shorts. exhales a lungfull of nicotine-laced smoke, she looks back at his friends huddled around a bottle of rhum. his wingman rolls a piece and looks at her. she stares back briefly and shifted her gaze to the cottage. he must be asleep.

heavy weights

his hands are fragile, they can only grasp small things- like my hand or my chin. on high noons, his skin feels hot. oh, how i love to trace patterns with my nails along his smooth arm, chest, from his nape to the small of his back. warm brown eyes drink me in as if he can only live through me. and when he kisses me, there is that tiny second that he refuses to let go.

but his hands are fragile. and in its cusp are my laughter, my good night sleep, my wonderful day, my smile, the mirth in my voice. and they weigh much too heavy for such frail things.

escape artist

to the beach! to the beach! where the blue water is cool and the fine, sugar-like sand clings to the legs, the toes.

we can lie all day, the sun burning our skin. between us are bottles of cold beer and a pack of cigarettes. so what if we can't hide body fat in skimpy suits? we have beautiful minds to take in the sound of waves as music, the sunset as a van gogh.

come! to forget is possible. see, the breeze is passing through the grove of coconut trees. look! the shadows of leaves on the dune lulling us to sleep.

we can almost swim to the next island. the current pulling us out to open sea. imagine a sailboat has just passed us by. a beautiful stranger smiled at us.

stretch your arms like this, paddles on smooth water. keep your legs still, floating. stare at the sun until you can see only the dark orb. and think of nothing else, just the lazy string of weeds brushing past your legs and the lightness in your head.

we can always swim back to shore. you and i.

double gypsy curse

oh men! you make me laugh. you craft too many lofty dreams and then swallow your pride for practicality. you make me vomit with your screwed up reasons.

woe to you, i say. you mock truth with your adulterous thoughts. you bargain for freedom with your slavery to obscure passions. you glance sideways when love stares at you. nothing is pure. nothing is real, not even your pain. you've no right to inherit the earth.

oh men! i would weep if death hadn't beaten me to it. there is no joy in corrupting your life.

woe to you. woe to those who learn to love you. or hate you.

take a sad song and make it better

you've been here before. you know the drill. but why the reluctance in your steps? the ridges on the soles of your shoes leave deep marks on the soft earth. why the heavy heart my love? what has changed?

do you not know the mind is its own place? memories grow there, live the life not given them. truths, by taking other forms, also die there. so don't you worry love, you'll find it is much the same like the last time.

why the weary voice? the air drags along your throat and ends in a sigh. what is happiness anyway? isn't it the same feeling that comes with a fat paycheck? or the laughter with good friends? or with the discovery of soemthing surprisingly wonderful? if you are afraid you are losing a chance at happiness love, catch the next train. look love, i can see a steam engine's nearing this station.

here love, the gods are waiting at their banquet. take a bite and be merry again. what is love anyway? it is just a four letter word, and so are a lot of things.