Huanchaco, Trujillo, Peru
I say, Tell me a story.
She says, I can’t. You tell one.
I say, Come on, tell me about today.
She says, I’m not good at stories.
I say, Ok, here’s an example. But you’re telling the next one.
I laid there on my favorite spot on the beach.
That little nook where the sand is carved out and it makes a perfect pillow for my head.
My silky, oily, lusciously tan legs glistened erotically in the sun.
She laughs and punches me in that soft way.
He said he was going to eat and come right back, but he’s taking forever.
Finally, I picked up my phone to message him, and there he was, smiling and flip-flopping towards me.
He knelt. Touched my hair. Kissed my neck. He laid beside me and I curled around him.
Her gentle breathing sounds.
We laid like that, my head rising and falling with his chest. The wild sea.
He had that faraway look.
I asked, What are you thinking about?
He said, I’m trying to remember this moment. So I can come back here any time.
No matter what happens.
I laughed a bit. What a strange dude.
I wrapped my legs around his leg. I’m the scissors. He’s the paper.
Tiny rocks beneath us.
I feel magnets inside us, pulling us together.
There are forces out here in the breezy day pushing us together.
This person I barely know. The things I want to say. I don’t know the words in English.
Her eyes are blinking. She says, How do you remember everything?
His fingers drift across my skin.
A dusty, gray cloud slides across the sun.
We are becoming one thing.
There are waves behind waves, three, four layers crashing
sequentially. Suddenly, I had to pee.
I have to pee, I said.
We gathered our few things and I think he carried me all the way home.
She says, Don’t look at me.
She’s laughing, hiding her eyes.
Her fingertip whispers a heart across my shoulder. She can’t say it yet.