Want to swim out past the breakers, out to where the bottom is just a distant memory. Out to where the people who live there don't believe in dry land anymore. They float all day long on scraps of canvas and memories of days when the sun burned through the salt spray and made jagged rainbows floating over the cool grey rocks.
And at night they light their camp fires, the logs burning in the hulls of model ships they built from seaweed and starlight, and they kiss so warm and soft and deep, while the sun slips under the waves with a guilty smile on her bee-stung orange lips.
And I know you'll be waiting for me, when the stars come out and the water turns black....and we'll laugh like two blessed idiots when my hand surfaces wet and shiny and your fingers twine round me like the blessings of a very understanding saint.
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