Monday, January 12, 2009

The dunes.

the morning mist rolls over the sea
onto the sand across our feet
a light rain wisps from the sky

the sun in a golden field
rises above the clouds
its reflection in your eye

grains of sand between our toes
the salty breeze in our hair
gathered from the passing night

beside one another on the dunes
i caress your face with a finger
you are such a sensuous sight

our tanned bodies aglow with the dawn
your hand moves across my chest
our breath but wistful cries

the gull soars proudly overhead
the surf laps on the shore
with rhythm rite and rhyme

my palm rests at your shoulder
and as our lips slowly meet
our hearts take joyous flight

our kiss is full of beauty
of passion need and desire
our touch is soft our bond is tight

you keep me close as i kiss you
gently between your breasts
down your stomach along your thigh

then i move my lips closer to you
so good i want you to feel
my pleasure rises as you sigh

I wrote this when I was sixteen or seventeen years old, and still a virgin. I rediscovered it last month among a stack of material, short stories and poetry, from my youth.

At the time, I remember finding an ad for a swinger's network in the back pages of the Village Voice. It was a voicemail service featuring audio listings from singles and couples throughout the New York region, and being the hard-cocked-but-smart teenager I was, I had a blast raking up my parents' phone bill as I listened to the entries. Eventually, I found the cajones to record my own listing, and to respond to others.

I remember actually talking to one single woman, likely significantly older than I, and reading this to her. I certainly didn't (and don't) think this could pass for Keats or Bly, but she seemed to like it enough that she refused to believe that I wrote it and promptly hung up on me. I smirk about that now.

Finding it again now, in the depth of winter, makes me think of beaches and warmer weather. I'm reminded of making out with my first girlfriend, Jackie, under the boardwalk of Coney Island. I remember skinnydipping with Tari, whom I recently re-discovered via Facebook, and totally enjoying her tiny dimpled butt as she ran into the Nantasket surf under moonlight. I'm reminded of sensual times on the beach with Diva: sexy photo poses along those Nantasket rocks in New England, or simply enjoying her sexy nude self at clothing-optional Gunnison Beach in New Jersey. I never did get to take Shayne to Honduras last summer, where I had every intention of fucking her senseless under a palm grove or in a diver's cave.

I have a vacation coming to me soon. I wonder if I can afford a night or two in Cuba. Havana Club, warm sand between the toes, and a hand on a sinewy, bronze hip would be ideal. Hrm.

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