Tag Archive: beach surf


Sandy Stars

The crisp scent of the mint keeps the pinks at bay
For want of a softer light I pray for rain
In vain since time in memorial less a mountain
Than a collage of sleepily filtered photos
The sand polishes both our bodies I have
Never felt more alive than now
Tickled in ocean spray
Under this moonlight
A splice in the dark
Your breathing takes me
Vague sculpted feet
In the wet beach
Silken sexy surf
Rolls on silica
Diamonds on black
As stars go so suns
Whether night or day
To where you are
Light years so far
Yet so finely lit constellate away
Bodies alive of so many colors
The delicious warmth of white foamy water washes over my feet
In the pitch darkness your breath cooler on my neck
Suddenly reminds my that sky is boundless
Much bluer by day hotter in need of rain
Pepper or spearmint oil
To keep the pinks at bay

© Chagall ∞

August 2, 3:16PM

chagall backdrop

Summer

sunny samba

toes besiege sand castles

wet steps, frothy, salt water sprays

lovers’

ankles

up her calves, too cool, sun-tanned thighs

coconut-pineapple

oils soothe smooth

the burn

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

 

Beachworthy

Sands are cooler this time of day,
evening shore’s spongy underfoot,
refreshes the soles on up.

My towel skirts me,
hula at the waist, a tuck-knot,
long, cool cotton sways,
massages me, naked thighs.

I buy a coco-rum-nut at the hut,
torches burn, leave a larger than usual tip,
fly chica behind the bar
rewards me with a double-floater-shot in return.

Salt air leaves me heady, nostalgic,
for some primal scene,
saline roots, when hot springs sprang,
before speech found its way to our tongues.

Duet up the beach plays Jobim,
he, nylon acoustic
she, silky throat and lovely neck.

Samba for lovers,
smell of herb
from under umbrellas.

The rum is good,
arouses my caramel,
makes me thicker,
I glide, boogie board on bare feet.

After the verse, at the coro,
I step toe to heel, to toe to heel,
dancing like no one’s watching,
’cause no one is.

My ears pop suddenly,
the rush of knee-high waves
swooshes crisp, tens of decibels louder,
foam about me touches my towel hem.

I am doubly alive, in overdrive,
oxygen never smelled so good,
clean, sweet, perfect pleasure,
just breathing in, keep breathing in . . .

Back at the hut, I double-up rum-nuts,
bum a cigarette from the fly chica,
who lights me up and smiles.

I do a paso dobla,
in a rum numb,
up and down the beach,
dancing, someone’s watching.
Queres dançar comigo?

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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