Looking out the window frame
And the scene was picturesque
Some would picture text
While others picture sex
You know either overly descriptive
Or simply too simplistic
But picture this
Dark brown hair with full kissable lips
Small waste and full – er hips
Laying on the beach
Eyes closed to me picturing this
I smile as that crosses my mind
Maybe she knows and my smile
Comes with the thought maybe
That’s how peaceful gets
As a hand reaches up
Unties and releases sunbathing breasts
The wind blows salty air
It drifts
She inhales taking a deeper breath
Hands putting pressure on her stomach
Not her chest
And her hair moved subtly
It’s as if the strands
Were being teased by fingertips
Then she slips
Back to rest out of what
Might have been instant bliss
I observe the deep breathing
With the rise and fall of her chest
She slowly sits
As the sun slowly sets
The breeze blowing off the ocean
Becomes
Playful as it slightly cooler gets
Still she sits
Her eyes close embracing the tidal mist
As each tiny drop is carried
To each root
And slips between the strands
As subtle as fingertips
I open the window to feel HER breeze but it stays wit her
And her hair it lifts
Now picture this
Lips reacting as if they’d been kissed
Hands massaging hips
Back arched
And still she sits
Her hair begins to fall
As the wind departs
It slowly slips
Along her scalp like this
I’ll leave the demonstration
Until I recount the story so let’s watch
Her breathing slows
Then she gets
To her feet and walks
Beneath the moon
To where the river and ocean met
Dives in and her body tingles
And calms with the cooling dip
Now the stars are out
Remember as the sun
Set the moon was lit
Now on this rock I sit
Out of the water she gets
Hair is wet
She gets out of her remaining set
The scene was set
With the sound of water drips
She looks up as she hears a voice whisper
Can I interrupt a bit
Now picture this
A smile on fuller lips
As the scene slowly slips
On the radio is playing
“From a little cottage in Negril…”
On the road the car it sits
The smile it gets wider yet
As the wind is blown and her hair is swept
This time with more force
Yet remains the playfulness
Picture it
And the sounds that come with it
The colours as the sun starts to set
Then the traffic starts to move
The scene is finally lost
Leaving behind something that goes beyond content
Even the days accomplishments
Picture this
G.C. Aug. 24/2010