The water is soft, and warm
salted sweetly like dew on bronze skin.
The boat at anchor rocks, a babe in a summer sea.
The water accepts us, frail humans that we are
each rise of silken sand beneath the waves a bosom of delight.
Suited, belying the au natural moment, we wade.
Legs and arms, receiving puritanical societyÕs permission to be bare,
wave and waver beneath and through the still blue sea.
Toes, curl and prod seeking dinner.
The water in its abundance yields, each molluskÕs breath rises
a stream of silver bubbles exhaled marking the bed
leading the dinners to their diner fare.
The Windmiller's Guest
The day was warm and sweet with spring
no breeze came to tease me.
I'd wondered what my love would bring
I'd wondered. "Where could he be?"
His mill stood high upon the hill
a short ride from my home,
a picnic planned would be a thrill
but that man would not roam.
I grabbed my bonnet, left the shawl
and out the door I ran,
perhaps, he had forgotten all
no sense of time that man.
I found him on the windmill's walk
staring at the gilded sea,
clay pipe in hand he watched a flock
dazed in silent reverie.
He smiled at me and cocked his head
and said love, "Don't you agree?"
what better place to share our bread,
"Have you brought lunch for me?"
© Debbie Guzzi, Owner Operator, Empathic Touch, Massage & Reiki