Perfect For Summer

Our halter tops reveal breasts

peeking after a drawn out winter

A hundred degrees incites groans

in spite of the earlier drought of sunlight

You move past me, ducking back

to touch, even with the stickiness

Our tuna salad at the campsite

reminds us of Cape Cod lobster

We ran on the burning sand there

romping in the giant waves

laughing, at times bobbing out of sight

That freezing cold Atlantic embedded

in our skin lingers now in the Pacific

It’s different here.  We’re the only ones

Lots of room just to dip

People rarely venture out

Too many warnings of undertow

Last week I wanted to drown

This fireside changed my mind


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