Awaken in a room to the sound of gulls. The ocean is outside, far away, the crash of water on sand and the friction of a billion molecules of water and salt colliding into perfect white noise. You are at peace. You are in pieces.

The room is made of a very human substance, rounded and mottled with the handprints of workers molding it into a hunched dome. The oval doorway leads to a kitchen streamed with sunlight and the stone steps which are swallowed by bronze sand. The walls are cold and bleed the feeling of cool stone into the air. The sheets are very white and they are soaked, but not stained, by sweat.

It is perpetually afternoon. The light is held at a delicate angle, razors of energy pouring in from windows sealed with liquid glass. She is tanned and taught, her golden skin rippling with subtle muscle and the promise of raw sexual energy. The sheets rise and fall with her breath as you stare at her, your head against the thick cold wall and your knees held close to your torso by your arms, a loose embrace.

"What are you thinking about?" You didn't know she was awake.

"You." It is a lie, but only because you were thinking of nothing at all. Better a polite lie than an honest vacancy.

"Let's go, anywhere, now." And you can't disagree because her form is so small and so perfect under the silhouette of sweat and pheremones. It wouldn't matter, anyway, had she suggested a destination. Outside there is nothing but beach and sun. Inside there is nothing but an infinite space of flesh and stone and the conversation, fueled by liquor and heat, which never seems to end. She could have asked you to follow her to the end of the world, you would have followed. Lost in each other's embrace, there is no destination other than one another's flesh. You are in pieces.

---

"Tom." The sun is furious as it prepares itself for a plunge into the azure blue of the ocean. The horizon is indifferent, providing no barrier between sea and sky. No cloud hangs in your painted world.

Somehow you are both wearing white cotton. The loose clothing rustles in the breeze gently. Your thick stubble rubs against her forehead and she seems to enjoy it, giggling a little as she strips and dives, somehow, into the ocean. The water could not possibly be deep enough to permit an entrance such as that, but she defies physics with her slender form and agile movements. You sit on the beach and watch her emerge from whitecaps and disappear quickly, wet form leaving speculars dancing in your eyes like diamonds.

A beer and a cigarette and you realize that you're getting drunk from heat and laziness. You haven't seen her in what seems like an hour. She could still be out there, drowning, dying in the deep blue. Your eyes search but it is too much, the waves crushing upon each other, and you feel yourself drowning in them, your body is filled with salt and cold and you slip down, unconcious, onto the sand, orange now with the hues of sunset.

---

Awake before sunrise. The gulls have left you alone, it seems, but the kelp reveals the length of your daze, entangled now about your legs like a net. Like a snare. You wonder where she went. Away with the waves, you think. Carried away into infinite blue.

You find yourself singing, your head on the sand still, your eyes still blurry with the requiem of sleep. Off kilter and off tone your voice meets a rhythm, your tones meet a unison with the beach all around.

yellow is the colour of my true love's hair in the morning when we rise.

And your thoughts just keep drifting, your mind keeps on reeling, the heft of your body still floating away. You think not to think, but you can't make it stick, you can't keep yourself from falling under the waves. If you could you would lift from the ground and blink out, another speck upon the young day's sky.

in the morning that's the time

But you can't keep on fighting, the thoughts are like anchors; they pull you down, keep you solidly on the earth. Your body will find no release among the stars today.

that's the time I love the best

You go back to your stone house and the inverted hues of the pre-dawn beach begin to warm with the rising sun, prepared to assault the landscape for twelve more hours. Vials and baggies and bottles greet you making a halo of vices about your bed. You wonder how much longer you have in this flotsam paradise alone with your chemical amusements and jaded perceptions. You wonder how much longer you have to spend with your dream girl alone in the twilight silently exploring each other. You wonder how much longer you can keep going.

You are in pieces.

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