They're lazy indoors
on the chilled summer sheets
of her lily pad place

He clicks, clatter, slips
channels with slick palm, she's
painting toes cool aquamarine
cigarette butts divide them
her feet erect, heels dug
browned darker when against
starched white

his glasses slide again, ankles cross, uncross
in this cramped nook island away from the heat

click clatter slip
rolls on his back
their perpendicular limbs

his spare glance caught her thigh
where a kiss trembled, following eyes

the bottle turns over
he rolls her over
fingers on nape neck, tracing eyes

the only proof
are smeared turquoise streaks
on pale, cold sheets

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