On a hot Sunday evening,
The sun and the water,
the sun on the water,
the blue and the gold.
Hastened, fastened,
sharp and dark silhouettes, 
on a beach, smelt of sweat and sea,
salty and sweet.

The opulence that is, her body, opened,
untouched and fair.
A bent neck went in, and craved,
and made, twice.
Like young gods, they were gracious, glorious,
and burst knowing love.
Feeding on mute smiles,
whispered caress,
and soft buss,
they were touch. 

They chattered along with sunburnt strangers,
and runner-ups.
With their wit and pride,
they ripened with war.
Immortal fragility and levity,
caught them drunk with love,
twisted hips, tied together,
in a summer fantasy.