How beautifully pure you two are, cleansed and rising up out of the water like two gods clad in board shorts, a small dog at your feet. This is so simple I say to myself, this is so simple what I see here, yet, this is gold to have you birth from this blue sea on a Sunday afternoon with five sailboats - white sails dancing behind you on a straight blue line between land and sky.
Grey stones line the shore. One dog, I already said that. White sand. I'm sitting on it. Immobile, a jagged piece of granite, I blend easily. My eyes move behind sunglasses and the two gods do not see me watching them. Watching the ease, the sheer compatibility. The way the younger god picks up the small dog and hugs her and then tenderly lowers her again to the shore. The gesture sets in my mind, imprints itself to memory.
This is so simple I say to myself what I see here, yet this is gold to have you this way.
The two gods are so alike now. The smaller god almost reaches to his older brothers shoulder. They chat. I cannot hear what they say. The older one points to the sailboats. They scour the shore for flat stones to skim across the water. Hop, hop, hop, plop. Ripples.
This is so simple I say to myself what I have here, yet this is gold to me to have you both amble up the beach and twist your bodies down onto the white sand to lie beside me in a casual, mutual peace. Respect. Love. Sunlight. Sunday afternoon. Small dog sits too and we all look to the sailboats serenading the bay. Nobody says a word. This is so simple.