Crisp white wine, crystal blue water, and the kind of existential angst which feels so familiar as to almost have become my signature vibe. Summer skin and the warm scent of coconut oil. He tugs me close, turns me around, and ties the strings of my bikini bottoms back together after having untied them an hour or so ago when passion had blossomed, lush and intimate, into an entire mood of late afternoon desire.
When we make love, it’s like a kind of smoldering apocalypse, everything comes crumbling so beautifully, ruinously down, down, down. Out here on the water, the sway of the boat on the rolling swells rocks us hypnotically into a place where alone means something you can reach out and touch, a kind of freedom you can almost hold onto forever.
He says something innocent and filthy that makes me laugh and I turn up the music as I pour more wine. Laughter feels like heaven. It feels like a rumbling, delicious breakthrough. The orange sun is heavy into its evening show of heat rays, glittering itself in lavish peaches and watermelon pinks all across the dimples on top of the light blue water. It’s funny the things you swear you could taste even with your eyes closed.
He takes a swim and I watch his smooth body slip into the coolness of the lake. Fixing my wide brimmed hat to shade my eyes, I can feel my insides are the kind of low humming snug that comes with sweet satisfaction. I think briefly about how lucky I should feel, swallow my drink. Run an ice cube down my neck and drag it across my collarbone until it all but melts completely and disappears.
On the tip of my tongue is a poem I would give anything to speak. But the words only hover and will not repeat. I curl up on the long bench seat, pull my knees to my chest and concentrate on the rise and fall of my own breath. You never escape the dreaded thing, but there are techniques. You can try to tame it. The heat is letting up as clouds thicken, darken, extinguish.
As the clouds move in and the gulls swoop closer and closer together in a soaring circular ring, time slips away on the breeze. The trick is time is always there. And they will tell you it waits for no one but the truth is that it waits for me and I can feel its jaw widen against the atmosphere. For all the permission we give ourselves to forget the world and all of its madness, this life is an abyss. My lover and I riding the tide toward the wide open mouth of the end of the line and we’re slowly sloping in